All my life I’ve been searching for something

They were the same and different all at once – a steady, stalwart combination of mountains and lineage, of shadows and veils, of amusements and petulance. But they swerved away from each other on wants and needs, because the youth had never desired a kingdom, an empire, of his own. While Rikyn yielded into the open arenas, the chariot chases, the endless opportunities of the vast, wild world, Erebos had stayed within the confines of his summits, of his peaks, of his valleys, content to remain amidst caverns and comrades, exploring regions, making connections, discovering malice and opportunities. His heart hadn’t melded or molded to a throne, to a crown, and only to the precipice of disaster, of ruin, of driving his sword into an enemy’s chest, of watching the Colossus fall apart by his movements, motions, methods, and schemes, of devastating the legions of beasts who’d dared to touch or harm an ally, a friend, a beloved piece of his life. He wasn’t sure which one was more free, more open, more capable of yielding and ensnaring their aspirations, inclinations, and impulses, but the boy knew they were capable, and perhaps that meant the most. The prince granted no other voice to Rikyn’s thoughts, indulging him in the quips, in the prose of defiance, in the art of never stooping to subservience, understanding his companion wouldn’t dare falter, wouldn’t dare tread, wouldn’t dare lower his head to anything less than himself – and he received a warm smile in return for his speeches and statements. His words couldn’t carry any longer – Rikyn would learn, he would learn, and they’d grow, they’d alter, they’d morph (no matter how much the Outcast resisted; even the Reaper had eroded in time). In the future, they would show the world what they were made of – might, determination, Machiavellian motivations, or they’d falter beneath the weight of so many stars, so much pressure, breaking under the fold of what they’d always dared to dream.
 
He was faintly amused when Rikyn altered the tone of their diatribe, slinking past to what Erebos had been doing, all the commitments, all the training harpooned and laced to his battle-ready frame. The beast didn’t tell the darker boy what he’d been hunting, why he’d been stalking, and only indulged him with the smallest of shrugs, trying to hide the apprehension, the anxiety, of the mantle placed across his shoulders. “They’ve made me General.” Maybe the notion, the title, would be enough to warrant and presume his successes (and his failures, because he’d stumbled and faltered just as often), that he’d become more than just the delighted, exuberant child racing down hills and trying to save his friends from calamity and chaos.
 
Then they diverted their conversations again, eyes glancing down towards the regal deer, a piece of the forest elements, crowned and noble, seemingly poised and prosed instead of an unruly abomination (here, Orsino sneered, like he’d won a prize for being the most condemned). “I never offered congratulations – my apologies,” he added, stare rendered on Rikyn for a split second before falling to Duir again, studying and examining the length of horns, the way they seemed to match in earthly paints, streaked by lightning and gold, marked by leaves, by woods, by copses and groves. He smiled at the smaller beast, allowing the grin to sneak its way into his stare – much more real, much more vivid, when prospering over a newfound companion and its link to his favored brethren. “Does he try your patience too?” He asked the fawn, nodding towards Rikyn, laughing with a feral fondness, a savage satisfaction. 

(something never comes)

erebos

never leads to nothing—nothing satisfies

but I’m getting close