The world is a scary place, and Cera knows that intimately. When Midas had gone off to war the first time, he had been far more innocent to the evil in the world. There was less for him to worry about, because the foes Midas battled in his younger mind had been harmless and easily felled. Since seeing and experiencing the poison of the demon in the forest, he knew that there were foes out there that were on par with Midas and also exceeded him in power. It made his heart quiver with fear, brought about the very real terror that Midas might not return once more. And where would that leave him? Cera knew about Midas’ love for Ktulu, though he did not understand that well. Living with Hototo and Ktulu wouldn’t be bad, but he doubted he would be the same if Midas really died. The thought only served to further distress him, increase the flow of tears that painted his father’s skin.

Midas’ slow breaths and calming scent kept Cera from a full breakdown, though he felt as if he was hovering on the edge. He didn’t know what lay at the bottom of that cliff, but he didn’t ever want to go down into it to find out. It seemed that every thought had been put on mute, for he couldn’t seem to think at all. It was actually a relief to him, to simply cry and not have to be assaulted by the words that drilled his head and hissed at him in the night. His fears were all out in the open for his father to see, and he was able to rest in peace at last.

As he had desired an alabaster wing moved forward to cup his body, but no words fall forth from his lips in reply to Cera’s words. Ilaria remained quiet where she was, knowing the family needed their own time, keeping out of the way. At first Cera was terrified by his silence, but the closeness quelled all fears. The beating in his chest no longer felt like he had run a marathon, and the shaking in his limbs subsided. Cera was not and never would be an angry child, and even the irrational use of anger as a shield frightened him, made him feel wrong. It scared him to feel that way, fake as it was. He didn’t like anger. The heat of their bodies is likely not best in the Tallsun heat, but Cera leaned his body closer to his father nonetheless. Heat and physical discomfort would not keep him from his father’s comforting presence.

Voice is gentle when it speaks, this time, and Cera knows they have just made it past one of the bumps in their relationship. Truthfully they are very few and far between, but getting past them always made him feel better, as if he had reached a new level of love for Midas. ”I w-will trust you.” It is all that needs to be said, but the syllables that follow have Cera withdrawing meekly and peering into the softness of Midas’ eyes. They are no longer frightening, but familiar. He does not want to agree but knows he must, and so he nods, throat clogged up so that he is unable to verbally respond in the affirmative.