Ophanim

When he heard that Sylva intended to steal him, a flicker of mischief made a home within his heart. He told Starsin and Malone the good news (though his wife certainly didn’t see it that way) and kissed them both goodbye. Ophanim would miss watching over them as they slept but he decided he would just have to make the best of this. So with the summer sun to his back and a smile across his face, he spread his glimmering gold and white wings and set off for the forests of Sylva.
 
Now, he tucks his wings as he spots a small clearing between the trees of the southern territory. It’s been ages since he last got to stretch like this, especially after healing from being mauled in Tephra, but he’s just glad to be active again. His descent is more careful than usual and he spreads his wings once more as he approaches the ground, easing into a relaxed trot to slow himself to a stop. The glowing golden eyes across the underside of his wings are hidden once more as he folds them against his sides. Still, the slow turning halo above his head and the lines across his neck and face seem brighter here in the shade beneath the trees.
 
Ophanim remains still as his bright blue eyes adjust to the light. Finally, he’s able to take a few steps forward as he surveys the region, briefly wondering if he should have waited up for Sochi. He didn’t know her very well at all so it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference either way. The angel boy shrugs it off and continues touring the territory curiously.
 
And then, a dark little thought comes weaseling its way into his mind.
 
He glances left, then right. Maybe they haven’t noticed that the best captive they’ll ever have is here yet. The corners of his pink and gold lips curl into a smile once more as he inhales deeply through his nose. Cress had woven his fire gland back together like a master of her craft and so he isn’t surprised when the stream of fire comes almost easier than before when he exhales. But he doesn’t push his luck with it just yet. Instead, he lets only a small flame chew through the fallen leaves and leave scorch marks across the ground. It dies as quickly as it came and he laughs at his own antics. By the time his year is up, there may be nothing left of Sylva but ash and remorse. What a perfect place to build his strength back up.
 
“Sinner! Come along now, before my boredom costs you your home!” he says as more laughter comes tumbling from him carelessly.

OPHANIM

Ophanim has stared death in the face and been pulled from its jaws. He knows the kind of monstrous strength required to snuff out the fickle flame of his life and it has made him more arrogant as a result. Sinner doesn’t have six tons of lean muscle or raging fire to pit against him and so he’s hardly a blip on the radar as far as threats go. He turns his head as the dog comes when he’s called. Good boy. A smile spreads across his gold and white face as he watches his four paws come loping across the forest floor.

“I was born a trouble maker, little hound,” he says with a laugh, the after taste of smoke spreading over his tongue. “I’ll burn down more than Sylva. Maybe your family too.”

And still he laughs, as though he’s told some harmless quip over dinner with a friend. The angel boy wonders if Castile will let him have the forest territory once they’ve ripped it from Sinner’s greedy hands. But then he would have to tear down all these trees and make it nice and open for all his sons and daughters to practice flying in. He tilts his head as he imagines the region as a smoldering pile of ash where Meraxes practices his own fire breathing. Perhaps Rupture and Bela could hunt the wildlife to extinction as they perfect their killing techniques.

These imaginings remind him how strong his young are and he smiles warmly at the thought before turning back to the hellhound. His bright blue eyes are too eager, too hungry for the destruction of another region.

“Summer has dried out your little home. It would catch even faster than Tephra and with a fraction of the Loessian army.”

Ophanim tips his chin upward and breathes another plume of fire onto a low hanging branch, watching as it catches along the rattling leaves and curls them to ash. Little ringlets of black soot drift over him but he is careful not to catch the higher branches. Can’t have the entire area burning down already when an entire year of this lies ahead of him.

“Do you think Castile will let me be Lord of Sylva once he’s done with you? You could still live here, of course, but my children may not be kind to you.”

His eyes remain trained on the withered branch as he remembers when he could breathe fire for hours at a time.

you could drown in those eyes, i said.