So many faces, so many players, so many acts and stages waxed and waned their way along the waves, and Erebos was an eager entity amongst them, eyes fixated on the strange creature floating along the lagoon. There was a contortion amongst the rippling tides – of nerves, of apprehension, of glorious confusion, and he thrived alongside it, querying, questioning the lengths of the mysteries intertwined within the throng. Chaos unwound the coils of his essence and made him all the more audacious, listening in on the resounding questions, twisting this way and that, smiling at those he knew and those he didn’t – always with some sort of attention sprung right back at the oceanic titan (he’d never seen anything like it before; it’d certainly never drifted towards the surface, where he was prince and pauper, rushing past sea gulls and crashing through utopia). Before long, the crowd surged and swelled, some towards the shadows, lined on the outskirts, and others pushing ever closer, sniffing and pawing and gesturing with the same curious wonder as the rest. Orsino might’ve hissed and growled, had he been capable of taking on the whole world.
 
But the thing spoke again, and the boy was captivated all the more, of names (Kisamoa), of allegiances to the Gods, a cousin to the Earthen one, and all the land, all the terrain, beneath the everlasting sea (the parts he’d never seen, never would, because the youth only rested on the plane, a drop of dust on an endless field of blue). Then there was the asking, the commitment, of help and guidance, support for a land the warrior had never visited – it’d been decrepit, decayed, mauled before he’d ever had the chance – and if they were fervent, willing, to assist. Erebos offered contribution, enthusiastic and avid, across his tongue before Orsino could even combat him with resistance and irritation. “I’d be willing to help!” His ears turned slightly to Erthe (wanted to smirk, wanted to laugh, remembering the last time he’d seen her, and all the frustration, the amusement, that had come with it – the moments hadn’t been as exhilirating as he’d wanted them to be, but it’d been a worthy diversion amidst blood and bone) as she expressed her concerns. She wanted to know about wraiths (his father had told him of the time they’d been forced into catacombs, when disease had spread, turning friends into foes), about combat (which he wouldn’t mind), but didn’t prolong his sentiments on the inquiries for long. Orsino muttered something about manipulative Gods - like the days when the Moon Goddess had spread her murdering finesse into her puppets and marionettes – but Erebos ignored him for now. If something dangerous, something vile, something treacherous occurred, he’d endure it. He’d always had. “What would you like us to do?” He tilted his head in a kind gesture, in a friendly smile, in an inquiring manner before the rest of them did the same. It would be something else to do – something else to commit to – besides vengeance and destruction.