[open] the graveyard follows the trail of the flame; any

[magnus]

desire consumes me like a fire consumes me

Set’s sharp-tongued retort surprises a laugh from Magnus and the sound is short and husky as he shakes his head, finding that he enjoys the trickster magician’s company, although he does not fully trust it. “Spend enough time with me and you may come to realize I am far less intelligent than I pretend.” The self-deprecating humor reaches his eyes, but it’s clear in the way he holds himself and the way his lips quirk that it’s not quite true—that there’s a a confidence that simmers still in the belly of the stallion.

His attention is quickly drawn to the mare of onyx and fire with the foal tucked by her side. If he is surprised by the passion in her voice when she speaks of the kingdom, by the vehement defense of the land, it doesn’t show. Instead, his gold-flecked eyes warm with appreciation for it, his lacerated lips curving in one corner into a crooked smile. “Good, strong, and stubborn seems to be an adequate description from what I’ve seen,” at this, his gaze slides to Ruan, lingering there for a moment as he appraises the other, curious at what lies beneath the wolf-stallion’s interior. “I’m glad to know it remains.”

His own introduction though is cut short as Ruan offers it himself, and he just nods his head. “Magnus indeed.” Once, perhaps, a name that carried more weight than it does now, the meaning behind it morphing over the years. At first, the name of an arrogant, wild prince of the Jungle and the Chamber. Then, the name of a King of the Gates, a stallion nearly bowed beneath the weight of expectations.

The name of a soldier, a guardian, a warmonger.

Now, just the name of a leader of one of many lands doing their best to survive the chaos.

Still, he watches with amusement at Set’s bald admiration of the woman, his gaze once again slipping to Ruan, curious as to how the stallion would handle such unabashed flirting before him. The wolfish stallion didn’t strike him as a prude, but neither did he strike him as one to appreciate such things.

When Set warns the foal of himself, he laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Old age addles the brain,” he whispers, eyes sparking as he looks to the colt. “For Set is confusing me with him once again.” His mouth curves into a good-natured smile. He winks and then falls quiet, finding that the meeting was far different than he had anticipated and yet, in many ways, far better.

good shouldn’t need to tempt us above