the wicked shall receive their reward; Magnus/any

[magnus]

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

It had been some time since Magnus had seen the painted stallion, but the golden General did not mind. He of all knew how the tides of Beqanna could be vast and turbulent—pulling souls to and fro and, in his case, underneath for years at a time. So when he finally sees the other stallion moving his way, what he feels is not irritation, but relief. The Gates needed strong soldiers, and he trusted Kronk—had from the first time that he had met the other. It was good to know that the other stallion still called Heaven home.

Moving forward, he came to a stop as the other stallion did, his expression sobering to match. Magnus knew that the rumblings of war were getting stronger and stronger in the wind—he knew that they were moving from rumors to fully-fledged truths. He also knew that all of his activity to fortify the Gates was just as likely to fan the flames. No enemy of theirs would be content to see how the kingdom was beginning to bustle with activity. No enemy of theirs would be happy to see more inhabitants rolling in.

“Kronk,” he greeted in his husky voice, pulling his eagle wings in toward his sides. “It’s good to see you.” At the question, one corner of his mouth flicked into a crooked, roguish smile, taking a moment to survey the kingdom around them. “We’re growing. More and more souls are finding a haven here—which includes more soldiers.” The smile melts from his expression and he meets the other’s gaze. “But that activity doesn’t come without a cost. I fear that we are drawing attention to ourselves, and the rumors of war will only stay that way for so long.” He takes a deep breath. “There is a darkness on our horizon, and I am not yet sure how we can meet it. I am going to need your help, Kronk. We all will.”

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.