Cera
_{A hero's worth is measured by his heart}

The Golden Prince was most often found traversing the thick golden sands of the Dragon's Throat, inseparable from the land of his birth and the domain of the Lord he'd sworn himself to. It was resplendent isolation, a familial cage he bound himself to willingly. There were no shackles round his ankles, no bars that he could not bend, shape, or break. Though the world was at his disposal, he'd never felt the need to roam the rolling expanse of Helovia, with its untouched treasures and miles to explore. The weight of the Throat, the responsibility of the land of his family, had never been a burden to him. He'd live his life as a pillar for the Throat, until death or alternative force exiled him. 

Still, he was as prone to flights of fancy as any other. Those realms that had been unveiled were unfamiliar to him, and though there was no looming assignment over his head to patrol the area, he found himself there on the brink of morning nonetheless. The flight had been a long one, hours rolling like water over smooth stones, starlight glittering in a sea of black, the ocean glinting silver beneath him and Ilaria a spot of warmth and love upon his shoulder blades. The wind had embraced him, autumn cool and errant over the waves, and though he had no partiality to land masses of the wilds, he found himself with his heart aimed to the east. The sun-struck mirrored lands where he'd fought on behalf of his Lord against the crocodile god. 

Look, Ilaria breathed into the space between their hearts, a thrummed wire down the line of their connection, and he lifted his emerald eyes to the sun as it began to peek over the horizon. Fina? It came unbidden, a heartbroken plea, a moment of doubt and insecurity. It was like seeing your loved one's face in a stranger passing by, feeling your heart stop and trip inside your chest, familiarity too fast for the slow remembering of grief and reality. Ilaria's paralleled mourning - for it was destined to be eternal, no matter how many years passed - floated up against him, tinged with her desire to comfort and heal. Cera had always suspected it was why she had been gifted with that particular ability. 

Still, the pair were captivated, their grief melting away beneath the splendor and beauty presented to them. The phoenix seemed larger than life, streaking across the sky with pigment etched across her tail feathers, burning the night and replacing it with the crimson and gold of a new day. The Prince tilted his own wings to follow her course, a child blindly following her ethereal light, as surely as his past self had trailed behind Fina. He was like a sunflower, always turning to face the sun, the light, the brightness that warmed and enveloped him like nothing else could. Even in the darkest of nights and blackest of despairs, he had his faith. No creature like she, a blinding comet of power and grace, could ever come from the benediction of any aside his Lord. She embodied his elements, and drew the world's hours across the land like a shimmering curtain of hues. Yet she trailed down in fire and flames and embers, a vortex of burning, dangerous heat. Even in beauty alone, there is power. There is danger. 

Cera dipped beneath the subdued rays of morning she'd brought to fruition, gentling his descent until he touched down in the distance away from her, ripples of water spreading from around his ivory hooves. Was it even a her? Some ambiguous androgynous creature? Was he still so inexplicably tied to the memory of Fina that he could not assume any other would have a different gender? Be careful Cera, Ilaria warned quietly from where she'd shifted to stare over his shoulder at the glimmering creature. Neither of them had forgotten the defeated god from the Flats. Was this another? But surely she would bring destruction instead of beauty, right? But it did not mean she could not potentially be a trespasser. 

Still, the Prince approached slowly, almost reverently. It was wrong of him to see Fina in her, to feast upon her appearance with eyes of avarice if only to fool himself into believing it. He allowed himself this singular sin for just a moment before closing his eyes to rid himself of the notion. Midas was dead, as was Fina.

The phoenix was illuminated in fire, and he prostrated his wings before her in a bow, though his eyes lingered on her form. Careful, always careful. But even he knew how to pay respects, homage to her efforts and the familiarity he saw in her elements. Still, feeling the softness of the silty base beneath him, the water coalescing against his hooves, he could not help tilt his head and regard her quietly. He wanted to ask her whether it bothered her, but her serenity led him to assume that it did not. There was a far more important question lingering on his tongue, anyways. 

"Do you often bring the dawn to us?" He prayed she would be able to answer him, though Cera fondly remembered the Earth Turtle from the Veins. The one who had offered him wisdom, patience, and hope. Perhaps Helovia would play her magical hand once more, reveal to him the meaning behind this encounter. Cera believed the Gods, the fates, would always steer him true. If he was meant to be here, he would not scorn the proffered opportunity. Instead he levied an eager, soft smile at the avian queen, and his own wings softened and clasped at his sides. A hopeful student, to learn of her powers, her spirit. Perhaps some aspects of the Diviner still lay within him, for his pursuit of knowledge was a hungered beast. 

- - -

AHHH I'M SO EXCITED

Cera
_{A hero's worth is measured by his heart}

She regarded them with half-glances and the elegant slide of red against their figures before her, not quite arrogant enough to be haughty nor shy enough to be demure. Cera patiently awaited her attention in the silence of the new morning, beneath the colors she had drawn around them like gossamer curtains and the weight of her own importance. He wondered if he was presumptuous, to assume that not only her tongue could bear the weight of Helovian dialect but that she would speak to him at all. Even the Gods had retreated slowly over the years, to their heavenly thrones and celestial duties. Yet Cera had a powerful weapon inside him, one that had slashed against the darkness for years, and it coiled and pulsed inside him as surely as it did on any dark night. A soft, glowing hope. That she would find him worthy, that he may learn from her. Derive wisdom from her grace, her purposeful cleansing and importance in life. 

One must first be a student before they are a teacher, Cera reminded himself peacefully as he gazed at the ruby-eyed avian. Clever eyes finally turned to him as he bowed, his too-big wings sweeping idly across the thin water atop the sands. Even in his age he still appeared to be a child, but he was too secure in himself these days to realize it. He was enraptured by her gaze, the smooth lilt of her voice as it was delivered to him. Static raced across his skin in a shiver of excitement, a wave of benediction delivered from the sharp, predatory curve of her beak. She did not await his answer, her own wings spreading in a glorious display of colors and embers that ghosted their color across the Prince's face. She was far more impressive than he, delivering further questions instead of answers - a habit that reminded him of the Gods and their mysterious rhetorical questions. But Cera had always learned to find his answers from them, and they'd never led him astray. He hoped she would not, either. 

Before the silence could descend upon them, a sign that he should answer, her elegant head turned to face him directly. Cera poised frozen before her, attentive as he awaited the deliverance of whatever she deemed important enough to gaze upon him so fiercely. The clicking of her beak was familiar, the trill of her vocals seeming to promise the music phoenix companions seemed so fond of. Lullabies that had heralded his dreams for many years laying in the throaty purr of her words as they trickled like melting wax and candlelight between he and her. He took a moment to savor her words, so concise they were as they delivered themselves upon his ears. This question was one he was intended to answer, emphasized by the clicking of her claw against the stone beneath her. Cera did not rush into an answer, though the tapping could be taken as a sign of impatience. A hasty method of replying insinuates a hasty mind, Ilaria reminded him primly, though Cera had been thinking it himself. He mulled over it quietly, though his eyes never wandered far from the flame-cloaked creature that sat perched expectantly before him. When he found an answer he found suitable, he hummed softly in his throat and spoke. 

"As a mortal, I can't say for sure," he noted softly, lips smiling and eyes like green velvet with a love that encompassed both she and the light she had brought. "A system cannot work without its essential parts, but it is just as true that without the system, the part has the potential to be rendered useless." Of course you would relate this to crafting, Ilaria scoffed fondly in his head, and Cera's smile only twitched and grew wider beneath the fond scolding. "But you are an independent entity, miss. In your solitude you have your own magnificence, just as the dawn does should it truly not be your task to deliver it, and thus assuming it stands alone." Don't get off topic, warned softly inside his head, and Cera flushed hot across his cheeks in a way that being too close to the phoenix could not explain away. He cleared his throat softly, a bit embarrassed to be delving too deep into a question she may have wanted a simple answer to. 

"You said it may be best to not know. I think it is an exercise of the mind to at least wonder, to turn the possibilities and examine it from every angle. I learned a long time ago that a narrow mind is the greatest flaw to possess." Gazing around pointedly at the vibrant colors streaking across the sky, Cera smiled. "But...I believe it is also the choice of every individual to decide whether they want to know the truth of the magic or not, contemplation of it aside. Knowledge is power, in its own way, but even the strongest mind can crumble beneath power. So knowledge can also be crippling." Like the knowledge of his father's death, or the knowledge that evil existed that still lay scarred across his chest from when a unicorn stallion had tried to kill him when he was a babe. He had not succumbed to it, but he had experienced the darkness of it all, and only his faith had shattered the illusion in the end. 

"My answer holds no weight, it's pure speculation." At least he would forewarn her, aware of the spill of words that were sure to flood off his tongue. Cera always had talked too much when it came to religious topics such as these. Head tilted to regard her, almost the same as she had peered down upon him when he had first arrived before her. He did not give his answer immediately, instead letting his tongue curl around the process of his thoughts before sharing any attempted definitive answer. "I believe every creature of the Sun feels a connection to the light, a desire to be within its embrace. The dawn may therefore bring you to it, as a sort of kinship. But you may bring it as well, for like a flame, the light inside of us spreads outwards when we hold it in our souls. It may not be your godly or magical duty to bring the dawn," Cera made sure to enunciate the distinction, for his answer would not make much sense without it. "But I believe every follower, convert, or daughter -" here he tipped his muzzle towards the phoenix, for even if she was not the direct offspring of his Lord she was still a child of fire and flame, and so he would dub her as such " - of the Sun will unintentionally spread the brightness they harbor, either in flames or soft kindling light. You may very well bring the dawn, in that way. The Lord of the Sun may have even made it your duty, like the system I spoke of earlier. Perhaps he is the head and the echelons continue down, duties distributed across them. In that case, He would bring you into being, and you would in turn bring the dawn."

Answer her, then. Stop talking in circles. Ilaria rolled her eyes fondly at Cera, nudging him along mentally as his thoughts drew to a close. "I know the Lord of the Sun embodies it wholly, and we are merely sundrops that emerge from Him and spread His light on His behalf. With that personal belief, be it fact or fancy, my answer is sure to divert from those of others. For I would say that the dawn is therefore His domain, and you are His child as surely as I believe myself to be. Which would make my answer - the dawn brings you." Pale wings settled against his side, though they twitched and trembled with excitement, wanting to volley this discussion with her freely instead of standing like a pupil before a professor at an examination. Although he was somewhat comforted by the fact that she had asked for his opinion and what he thought on the subject, so his answer could neither be correct nor incorrect. "We may seek to be alongside Him as much as possible, to achieve the same brilliance as He by seeking equality - but unless you are another God, that is not a possibility. The light is His domain, and even if it is your sworn duty to draw it across the world, it would still belong to Him. And if you are His child as well, then regardless of your duty, the dawn will bring you instead of the other way around, for you would merely be a disciple of His teachings." Head bowed in sudden embarrassment, afraid to have insulted her with his faith.


"These claims are all dependent upon my personal faith, which is why my answer is attuned to my intimate beliefs. You may laugh at them freely, for you are surely closer to the gates of godhood than I am. You could even attempt to discredit them by breaking the magic you spoke of earlier, the reason why we should be content not knowing. But my faith has not been shaken, and I could not say what I would think of your answers." And finally even the reverberation of his wings settled, and his smile grew warm and brilliant across his face, like liquid fire. "The truth is, I don't need to know whether you bring the dawn or it brings you. I may want to know, and that is why I initially asked you it, but..." Cera cast his eyes to the rising sun on the horizon, and his smile turned less gleeful, softening into something settled and bone deep. 

"I trust the workings of my Lord. So I do not need to know. If you are acting on His orders, if you are some alternate god...it does not matter much in the way of my faith. My curiosity has no impact on my answer, nor on my belief in Him. And my respect for you would never waver, regardless of the answer or your duties." They were both children beneath the Sun, after all. Cera laughed softly, abashed by his own babbling. "I'm afraid you asked quite the wrong person for their opinion," he noted, eyes glimmering with amusement. "I apologize for speaking so much on such a flexible, inadequate answer. But I appreciate you asking for my opinion." It was not her fault that he could not attribute godhood to her in his mind, which would have led him to saying she brought the dawn. His Lord came first and foremost, and he could put no other God above him, which meant she fell beneath the Sun God's domain and most surely could not bring the dawn on her own without his permission. It was simply an answer derived from his steadfast, burning spirituality. 

- - -

Cera talks way too much and I am so sorry for whoever has to read and respond to this

Cera
_{A hero's worth is measured by his heart}

His embarrassment was profound, but even in it he found it within himself to smile, berating himself for his proclivities towards philosophy and endless, circular questions. He felt the fool to have misunderstood her, but she was a gracious and patient listener, and he could not find any regret littered within his mind at the current moment to have stolen her time so stupidly. “’I don’t know’ is just another way of saying ‘I will find out someday’, to me,” the cherub joked, for he could feel no ill in her presence. Ilaria was chiding him softly for his misunderstanding, and he turned and made a face at her. As if you didn’t make the same mistake! Not that the proud panda would even deign to reply to that particular fact, much less admit to her own shortcomings. Cera rolled his eyes fondly before returning his attention to the flaming avian, casting his eyes obediently to the dawn she’d drawn across the sky like a glimmering curtain.
 
“It is a masterpiece,” Cera admitted softly, as if speaking any louder would shatter the illusion of grandeur that still awed him so deeply. He could never hope to understand his Lord’s domain entirely, but he would always hold an anchored respect and love for the physical manifestations of that power. It was why he also gazed upon the phoenix with such admiration, for she embodied more fully than he the aspects of his Lord’s power. Cera would give anything to have that kind of gift bestowed upon him. He’d devoted his entire life to the Throat and the Sun, and he’d been granted many boons because of it. One such being purpose.
 
Chosen? It lingered in his mind and on his tongue, but was not spoken. It was so soft an admission, one he was unwittingly privy to, and he suddenly wondered exactly how deeply the Gods were involved in this particular meeting. Not that it changed much of the circumstances. Cera had never been the type to lie to himself or to others in any fashion, and he’d not alter his behavior even if he were aware that she was there to judge him in some way.
 
The riddle she presented was one Cera had contemplated as a child; the Circle of Life as Midas had aptly described it. But there was so much more to the balance of the world than three main players and a common enemy. Still, she had bid him not to think too deeply on it. But Cera only had one answer to give, this time.
 
“Help the grain,” he stated simply, eyes calm like untouched sea glass. “In the Throat, in any herd, it is the leader’s job to ensure the well-being of the whole. You could even call it the greater good. There are hard decisions to be made, and some will result in loss and grief. But life goes on regardless, and though some may have to fend for themselves, the leader tries to ensure that as a united whole, as a herd, we are as safe as can be ensured.” It reminded him quite a lot of Gaucho, truly. Some sad, wandering souls may cross the sands in the Throat. They may suffer alone. But Gaucho’s decisions were made to support, protect, and provide for the majority. Perhaps the Gods did so too, but on a far larger scale. “It was how I had come to try and understand the murders – for the sake of Helovia at large, something had to be sacrificed. A leader does that, too.”
 
Pale hooves touched idly at the thin layer of water on top of the sand, his own distorted appearance flickering back at him. Optics turned towards the avian. “The field supports more than the mice, and the mice support more than the hawk. But the grain, it supports the most. The circle of life has a balance to it, and the hawk and the mouse are subjected to it. They fail, or they triumph. But without the grain there would be no deer, no sanctuary for a large cat to stalk its prey within, no nourishment for any creature that is sustained by it. If the field were to go barren, the mice would all be eaten by the hawks, but then the hawks would starve – for there would be no more mice, if there was no food to sustain them. Take away the grain…and both of the others die.” Cera shrugged his thin shoulders, for there was no other answer within his mind. Do what is good for the whole, and pray that all others who fall outside of that realm have the strength to carry on. 

Cera
_{A hero's worth is measured by his heart}

Cera was not unaware of the title that seemed to trail across the lands in regard to his efforts, though he still did not always understand how or why. He seemed as forgettable and replaceable as any other, at times, no matter his inherent belief that all souls held purpose. How any large body of people came to know him, much less find him princely...it was humbling, and he always felt a mixed flush of pleasure and embarrassment spread through him whenever someone idly mentioned it. Truthfully Cera forgot about the title more often than not, though in his heart of hearts he dreamed, hoped, and aspired to be a true Prince. An orphan with a family cursed to disappear or die, all he wanted was to grow from Gaucho's shadow and find his place in the Throat. To make Gaucho - who he still could not discern between brother and father - proud of him. 

That this proud, beautiful creature that he envied and respected would deem to know him by and call him as Prince...it was an honor, and it swept through him like the wind across the desert. Maybe he was worthy of it, if she spoke it so simply, as if it were fact. Maybe there was more to himself than he first believed. Ilaria preened from his withers, ridiculously pleased. You always deserved the title, she noted smugly. "Thank you," he said sincerely instead, incapable of ignoring such a momentous compliment. She could depart from him immediately in that moment, and he would walk away from the encounter a changed and grateful soul. Yet she seemed to find something further inside him to question him upon, pick apart and analyze. He stood complacently before her, still riding the high of her compliment, merely soaking in her elegant company. 

She seemed far less like Fina now, and Cera wasn't sure whether he was happy about that or not. 

Her final question seemed almost as easy - in Cera's mind, of course - to answer as the previous one had been. But he still gave her the same respect of considering it, rolling it around in his head before putting it into finalized words. But it never lacked the core values that Cera inserted into every question he answered for her. "You water it," he said softly, feeling a bit melancholic, aware of the words he intended to use to explain himself. If she didn't grow tired of him constantly talking.

"You will be inevitably trampled in life. Grief and pain will find you, even if you train hard. Even if you hide away, or others try to defend you from it. And grain is meant to be eaten, to sustain others, to maintain balance." It was difficult not to see himself in the metaphor, but it was what he intended to base it upon. But he could not forget that he was also speaking about grain. "Nurture it, instead. Give it nutrients in the soil and water from the skies so that it may grow strong on its own. You cannot delay the inevitable, and it will never grow stronger if you leave it untouched. And it cannot help the mouse or the hawk by being hidden away or made too tough to eat." Ilaria patted his shoulder comfortingly, quiet descending upon the golden boy. It reminded him too deeply of Midas, especially staring into a face that was quickly reminding him of Fina once more with the revived memories. Though he had many qualms with the man's methods and manner of relationships, he'd nurtured Cera. He'd never hidden the Prince away from war, always explained the brutal truths of the world, so that Cera might be prepared but not thrust directly into the path of agony. He had been, eventually, but it was the thought that counted. 

"Everything has a function," the Prince finished softly. "I would not change the nature of grain to try and spare it, when it would harm so many others. I would give it the tools it needed to be strong on its own, to live a healthy life growing, and die a meaningful death sustaining the creature that fed upon it." And a small smile pulled at pale lips, because for a moment he could almost see Midas behind the phoenix's shoulder, nodding his agreement. Maybe he was a bit more like his father than he thought, in some ways.