Straia;

[Castile]

and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was

”Loess,” his voice is throaty and deep as black smoke coils from his nostrils into the cool, winter air. It’s a nonchalant introduction to his home, but he imagines how many she has seen in her lifetime and how they all melt into one another. They all have hills or mountains or lakes. Trees, of course, too, but cacti and hot springs also scatter throughout Loess in what Castile hopes to consider unique as he accompanies her across the rocky border. His eyes flash across the foothills then toward the jaded peaks where his nest lies. How long has it been, he wonders in a flickering bout of distraction before his attention returns to Straia at his side. ”A kingdom like the countless others you have seen,” a chuckle escapes him, his grin lopsided and boyish as they venture closer to the heart of the kingdom where there rests a hot spring.

Their idle chat draws to a gradual halt as Castile edges toward the spring. A glance down meets him with his own reflection and an observation of how his eyes have changed. They hold greater stories now, greater achievements. It doesn’t stop there, the voice in his head hisses.

Blinking, he turns to Straia. ”We have Sylva and the Pampas. Taiga as well, I suppose, but I need to make that… more official.” The mischievous gleam in his eyes makes it plain to her that his agenda remains extensive, unfinished. ”Pangea is on its own. Tephra and Loess have prickly relations,” a pause brings his thoughts to Nerine, ”and Heartfire recently stepped down, and she was the one joining forces and pitting friends against me. Though, I suppose after that, they aren’t exactly friends anymore.” A shrug ripples through his shoulders, exemplifying his nonchalance toward the change in relations. Immortality sinks its claws further into him, plaguing his thoughts with the premise that everything is temporary. One day, Loess will no longer be his. His children will die, his heart will shatter and rebuild over again, and his life will continue through all the chaos. What are friends, if not pawns with their fickle loyalty?

The compassion in his soul recedes, his ambition and primal instincts surfacing slowly, day by day.

”Tell me, Straia, how does one escape death?” And come back again with the same drive, the same hunger.

castile