Order one drink, then drink the flood // Firion

[firion]

that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried

Firion tests his magic every day too.

But it’s a spiteful kind of testing. It’s a hateful thing because he’s pretty sure that he hates his magic. He hates the way that it keeps pulling him back to the night. The way that it forces him to live in those shadows as though it was the only place that he would belong. He hates the way that he is forced to relieve his memories of his curse. The way that it chases him in his slumber. The way his nightmares take root in his magic and he sometimes wakes up to that decaying body, the flesh sloughing off of him.

But he tests it still because there’s a part of him that loves it.

That loves the power. The way it flexes through him—the strength.

The control it gives him when he was missing it for so long.

He is testing it in such a way this day, floating though the sky as nothing but a demon wind—icy and brutal, jarring in this spring—when he sees the dragon fly by. Curious, he spirals and then follows, a biting tailwind behind the dragon. He follows her for hours, feeling his own exhaustion in his bones as he goes, and he sees her as she falls. His magic snaps out without thinking, trying to press more into her so she has enough reserves to catch herself, but he is tired too, and there is only so much he can do.

When she lands, he floats downward, whooshing over her in an icy prickle before picking up leaves and moving to the side. A small cyclone that abates, leaving the golden stallion standing in the settling dust.

He looks upon her with a bemused expression, ignoring the fatigue in his bones.

“That was quite the fall.”

so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried

@[Locheed] <3!