Magnus’ life has been an exercise in regret and the many ways one could hate themselves. So many decisions had started with the best of intentions, only to later twist and warp in his grip, turning into a slippery knife. His ideals had become the very source of his grief, had impaled him more times than once, had driven him toward the cliff’s edge. And so, it would seem, they had done again. The meetings at the Gates had imploded, a black hole that had swallowed everything he had cared about. They had become blurs of emotions and pointed words and hateful outcomes. He had watched questions raised, concerns ignored. He had watched the kingdom that he loved turned into something that he did not recognize.
At first, he had resigned himself to it; it was a bitter pill, but one he said he could swallow.
But then—oh, then—everything had gone awry. What had been a contested shift in kingdom politics had turned into something crueler, something that had resulted in banishment and the loss of a mare who had been with his child. Magnus had gone blind with rage, with anguish. Was he to stay there? Endorse those decisions? Silently stand by and let Zeik morph the kingdom into something he could not bear? Or was he to put his foot down and leave? Stand by his ideals, stay true to himself, and let Zeik do as he will?
He had, rashly, chosen the second decision and, in many ways, it was a decision he still agreed with. But that did not make it an easy one—or one that did not come with its own set of regrets Every day since then, he was plagued with memories of Sahm, of Camelia, of Kokachin, of Cerva. Of those he had left behind in the kingdom. He thought of them often; he woke with worry biting at his heart. He hoped they had settled into the new rhythm and found peace. He hoped they would be protected—stay safe.
And then the world had shook and the heavens had fallen and everything that had fractured his heart in those weeks seemed so insignificant. Since coming down from the Mountain, Magnus had turned his mind toward the task at hand: finding allies, helping those he could, creating a home. In many ways, he had been successful. He had forged an alliance with Offspring, with Malis, and even with Eight. They had secured one of the first pieces of land to create their new home—and while it did not have the Jungle’s wild spirit or the Gate’s serenity, it had captured a little piece of his heart, twisted around his soul.
Magnus had even found many of the Gate’s former residents—and many had established themselves at Tephra. But not everyone. There were some he could not find and each day was salt upon the wound. His eyes never stopped washing over the crowds to spot them, his pulse thudding in his throat as he wished for their safety. So when he sees Cerva, he cannot help the relief that washes over him, his expression naked in it as he came up toward her. “Cerva!” he cried, husky voice thick. “I am so glad to see you safe.”
magnus
@[Cerva]
![[Image: gqYjsHr.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/KjqNDKxc/gqYjsHr.png)