Shock has frozen his father’s dark face into an expression Cera doesn’t see very often. Ilaria is growing distressed where she is holding on to his shoulders, uncomfortable with the flurry of emotions growing in his tiny chest. There is no stopping the feelings that bubble forth in his heart, and he fears deep down that they will both regret this collision in the future. Even the self-hatred he feels at disobeying is not strong enough to stop the tidal wave of fear and fury that slam into him like a physical force. Stern visage replaces the previously stunned expression his father had adorned, and Cera wavers momentarily. This refusal is so against his nature that it feels wrong, as if he is stuck in the wrong skin, but much like momentum he cannot stop himself at will. They are in a stand-off for a long time, silent. Cera’s wings remained at the ready, for if he will not be taken seriously then he will leave in seconds. He doubts that he is a better flier than Midas, but he was willing to take that risk if he had to. The knowledge that this may become a fight makes him feel ill, like his stomach is being churned violently, and he wants to cry and beg for forgiveness. But no, he must remain strong even if he wants to take it back. Cera despised seeing the look Midas wore, half-disappointed and half-pained. But he couldn’t let his daddy charge into battle one more time.

Something seems to catch his eye and the anger of his father’s face relax slightly. This doesn’t comfort the growing colt, and in fact only serves to confuse him further. It is hard to keep that, too, from showing on his face; an open book. Gaze leaves the willowy colt, but dark ears fall at half-mast. Cera’s insides jumped as if electrocuted, but he kept his brave face and did the same. Fatherly tone has become almost dead, making the youth jumpy and even more unsure. Wings curl out, as if trying to touch every tendril of wind that floats above the desert. He doesn’t remember doing it, but it is a reaction to Midas’ foreign tone. Flight became his friend soon after d’Artagnan’s attack, though he had been trying to conquer it for quite a while before understanding he couldn’t force the winds in their finicky ways. At that point, he was growing more confident with his aerial abilities, and the need to escape from the confrontation was growing. Anger and a mass of confusing emotions kept him rooted, as well as the desire to hear Midas out. He would never be a disobedient child despite his outburst.

”This request means only heartache and pain.”

Cera bristled, ears flattening fully, but his eyes dart unsurely. He is aware that he is not much help, being untrained, but Kri had said that they could be! Grasping at straws he is desperate to prove himself right, to protect Midas. Attention is rapt when words call it, and horror makes his face flicker when the armor settled into place. That is not his father, that terrible creature cloaked in metal. The horns on the face give him pause, but they are short and non-threatening, and do not set him into a panic. However the sight of the magically enhanced plates do, for he remembers. He had been half drunk on poison and pain, but he remembered at least Midas charging into battle with the demon of blood. Before Midas even speaks Cera is taking multiple step backwards, as if he has been threatened. Light caramel wings spread out from his body further, eyes wild. Only when Midas’ voice came slipping out did the instinct to get awayawayaway stutter to a halt. He pauses, and Ilaria is making a distressed sound, feeling the fear emanating off her bonded. All kindness, however, is gone from his father’s face, and Cera feels very, very cold inside. Ilaria fell silent, as if death hung over them. Neither moved. Even when his voice gentled, Cera’s face lost the emotion it had displayed so vividly. ”I won’t let you be hurt,” he hissed, ears pinned against his cream face. Anger fills every syllable, but he won’t acknowledge the waver that accompanies it. Wings remained outstretched, a warning to Midas that if these words are not heeded then he will leave. It breaks his heart, and he is starting to panic. Trying in vain to hide how he is shattering, seeing that armor on his father. Not wanting to succumb to the nightmare of his memories, for that armor is tied to d’Artagnan, which triggers many other things. Hototo, Hototo, I need Hototo! His mind is screaming at him and eyes flicker in the direction of the Deep Forest with an expression of desperation and need. Why he wants to run to the awkward, fumbling colt he does not know, but at that moment he wanted to fly recklessly to his beloved adopted brother and cry on his shoulder. Even if imagining his reaction normally would make Cera roll over laughing. ”You can’t make me watch you leave while I do nothing!” Eyes flicker back to his father, remembering what is going on. Vision narrows, trying to be angry, but his gaze is surprisingly hazy with tears that bud on his green irises. ”You can’t stop me, and you won’t!” Voice rising to the loudest it can possibly go, uncaring how young he sounds, wanting to appear fierce. This has given him a hold on his anger, but desperation lingers behind glassy orbs. He wants to protect Midas, not fight with him!