He’d taken his time, staring out along the void of earth, snow, and ice from his father’s tomb, watching the crowd grow, gather, and mingle, only threading amidst their grandeur and opulence when he’d woven his mind into a less-sullen regard. The General roamed from the border line to the crisp enveloping of frames and figures, pausing to nod at familiar faces, at other sovereigns, kindling a bright smile that was only half-pretense, forcing jubilance and joviality from his core when all he seemed to want to do was run.
 
A true son of the Reaper, Orsino hissed, growled, and scoffed, rolling his eyes at the sudden need for the prince to escape and divert his attention elsewhere – and Erebos ignored the jibe, the spurn, the insult – treading lightly along the outskirts, a careful, quiet, composed veneer settling over his features. Enyo clicked her beak and danced, swayed, to several makeshift tunes, wings unfolding and swinging in the autumn breeze, and this registered a small laugh from the soldier, shaking his head as they wandered, as they roamed, as they ignored drink (because he was eternally on duty, needed to be sharp, needed to be aware, needed to be on guard), but couldn’t resolve himself to place himself near anyone else. His mercurial mood was enough to put anyone at bay.
 
But the flash of lights, of sounds, of sparks emblazoning the sky – like dragons, like deer, like wolves, dashing across the midnight canvas, the Stygian landscape, gave his handsome regard a true smile – because at least their God had the means to display their savagery, their power, their might, as the rest of the world celebrated his presence. He was drawn to the ripple of time and space, to the hours spanning across decades and forsaken, desolate realms, eyes riveted on the God, smiling as he praised Rikyn, as he roamed towards Wessex.
 
Then his brows arched, curious as to why the deity lingered near his Corporal, strained to listen to the speech enveloping through their sanctum – and then, all at once, the notion, the speculation, was irrelevant. She’d been proffered the mirror, the position of Haruspex, and the General, still a stupid, stupid boy, fought momentarily, almost begged, for her to say no, because she was a part of his army, of his strong, enduring force, an integral part of the mighty, ferocious machine. He wanted them to stay together, this finely built unit, finally starting to become something without fractures and splinters, brawny, brutal, and vicious, capable of thwarting anyone and everyone who crossed their path. But she accepted before he could proffer her anything in return, and he knew, he knew he couldn’t be cold, he couldn’t be twisted, he couldn’t be so maligned to dream of her passing up an opportunity. It just stuck in between his ribs – that cold, darkening feeling of being left behind again, of not being enough, pondering how to replace her, how to forge on when she’d been all mettle and barbarity.
 
His mother hadn’t raised him to be a bitter, rancorous little beast, but sometimes the sentiments still lingered there, rash and asinine. He pushed the sentiments down, far, deep into the cavernous depths of his lungs, of his nefarious, blackening heart, and made his way over to her, a smile, a smirk, a Cheshire grin pierced and layered on his face, the disappointment hidden beneath the honor and acclaim she’d undoubtedly earned. “Congratulations,” he provided and presided, bowing his head to her in salute and praise, raising his head to look her directly in the eyes, showing naught but pride beneath the cool, radiant core. “I’m sure you’ll be a fine Haruspex.” You certainly never disappointed as a Corporal, he wanted to say, but anything else and his composure might have fallen apart, so he stepped aside, swallowing the puncturing shades, remembering what duty meant, and how the God of the Sun had told him to look ahead, ahead, ahead.

Erebos

i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want