Rikyn

It’s more of the same battle, Erebos’ hope against the reach of the night within my heart. I suppose I can’t blame him; his kingdom had not fallen apart, and his family had been torn by death, not selfishness. There was a difference in our lives that could never be amended, no matter how similar we were, both cut from the star studded, midnight cloth of royal standards, born under the shadow of tall, snow dusted mountains, and bound to the way of the blade, the true warrior, noble and proud, fierce and indomitable, as all of our kind were destined to be.

Sure, I had never seen a kingdom before me, mine, full of women and treasures, but I still knew such a thing existed, and that is not something I called my own. I still knew the yearning, and was still my mother’s son, fed on tales of conquest, and words of lust, lust for power, for might, for blood. I did not need to have lost it to know the ache of its absence, being a child born of pure ambition, a soldier to the wanton, unbreakable tether of a desire for more.

I would let his light deepen my depths, and lend my shadow to bolster the vivacity of his glow, if my night darkened ocean of a brother would still march with me, towards the towers of our dream-envisioned bastion. He tells me I must not wait for others to move, without understanding that my path goes about the mountain and the realms of Gods for that very reason; I have not waited. I have simply remained blind while wandering, and slowly have begun to pull away the gauze of youth and naivety, which binds my eyes.

I must learn to be a proper shadow, first; it’s hard to do, when this land smites me at every turn. It makes sense, I suppose: Helovia, the very name of the land praising the sun, and those who serve the light, rather than the darkness inside oneself.

I smirk at his words of servitude, how all of us are mercenaries; perhaps some find themselves bound to the whims of mortals, and their fickle desires, but I’ve found that I am capable of serving only Gods, and the lure of love, be it a love for myself, or those few I choose to hold close to my heart.

"I don’t doubt they all want something. But, I like to think I am servant to none but the torrent of Time," and you could be free, too, I challenge of his statements, the familiar grin worn during such verbal jousts rising to my lips. My defiant figure steps towards his with the open trust of friendship, born before our hearts had learned that trust could be broken. "They cannot have what I won’t give them, or what they can’t take."

"I say, let the world be fickle," I laugh, "to continue to flow around that which is steady. I would rather be the mountain than the snow, a horizon to move towards, not a cloud to chase. Change is for those who would follow, brother. It is the steadfast who rule. I'm still too easy to move against my will, though."

A frown darkens my countenance, though the smile returns, my eyes spotting new marks on his dark coat, the promise that his training has continued filling me with a resolution that we might one day be mountains, after all.

"How goes your training?" I grin, glancing towards my buck as he is mentioned, "Duir's hatching has kept me from the field as much, though not entirely."