”It’s time to go home,” he had said when finally retrieving Oceane from Pangea’s grip. Although excitement riddled his veins, it was masked behind a stern face that spoke of the urgency to leave. They immediately took flight.

Castile hears her labored breaths and occasionally reduces his speed in order to keep her close and monitor her. He has already looked her over multiple times, noting how her hips peek out more strongly now. The muscles that rippled across her bones have thinned; although not emaciated, she is still returning to him – them – less than when she had left. Of course, he says nothing of this as they make the final stretch into the forest. They spiral down, folding their wings the instant their hooves kiss the soil and grass.

Hearing her cough unnerves him, but Castile appears unyielding until he is finally able to melt away the seriousness of their predicament. It takes looking around, remembering they are out of Pangea, to finally relax his muscles and take a breath. This isn’t Loess, but it is close enough.

Her gratitude is a soft whisper at first, but strengthens when she reaches to embrace him, draping her neck across his own as he lowers it. A moment of tenderness closes his eyes to savor the touch – he has avoided most contact since she was abducted – but then she turns to look at him and he knows that she wants answers. ”I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner,” he confesses as a frown stitches his brows. It should not have taken so long, but it did. Lepis wanted to wait still, but Castile went against her wishes to instead act on his own. He doesn’t expect – nor even want – her thank you.

”You belong on Loess’ throne. You deserve it. Lepis has had it once before as well as Taiga,” he pauses as he inches a step backward, ”Don’t let her get comfortable.” The space between them is nearly palpable. Castile doesn’t dive into her unspoken questions, reluctant to even admit anything as part of him yearns to flee into the trees and lose himself.

Castile listens to her – a new skill he is building on – but his eyes cast down in deep thoughtfulness even as hers steady on him. Oceane’s gaze pierces him, stabbing into him like smooth, polished knives. The corner of his mouth twitches, but no grin ever makes it to his face. In front of her, he is somber. One by one, he sifts through his memories until one suddenly sticks and forces him to meet her stare. ”You know,” he pauses to swallow, his voice gentle, ”my mother made enemies when she took over Nerine and tried to collect lands beneath her as sub-kingdoms. She didn’t want to get close to any man or have any children in fear they would be used against her. Eventually, she fell in love and I was born. I was kept locked in Nerine because, again, she didn’t want danger to befall me because of her surrounding enemies.” A moment’s pause allows him to reflect on his days huddled in the caves or standing ankle-deep in the ocean, staring out at an open and limitless sky. ”I can’t get out of my head that I put you and our son at risk just for being close to you, and for being Alcinder’s father – that it was all my fault that you both were in danger. I failed my promise to you,” Castile noticed her dismissive smile moments prior and he matches it with another step back as he internally wars with himself.

”No, I’m not coming back,” he owes Loess everything, or at least he had. During the years spent on the throne, he removed threats and kept many of his friends and family safe; unfortunately, in his last year as King, primal instincts eclipsed his better judgment. That’s what everyone will remember. They will see him as a stain in Loessian history no matter what good he brought there first.

Maybe, this is how fate works. Maybe, this was all in the cards.

For years, Castile never pictured himself leaving Loess. This could be the sign he needed to move elsewhere, to take a step back and breathe.

Swiveling his ears contemplatively, he tries to envision a life elsewhere, but comes up with empty hands. ”I’m not really sure,” he admits with a resigning shrug. ”Perhaps, I’ll be nomadic for a little while or maybe one day return home… to my first home,” but even as the idea skims past his lips, he isn’t entirely sure if he wants to live tucked in the Nerinian caves again. Only time will tell, he supposes. With a slow lift of his chin, Castile reads Oceane’s face with mounting curiosity, wondering her reaction to his decision. ”Lepis and I are at odds, so it would be best I’m not there.” He doesn’t tell her that this is the first time, that this altercation is a painful thorn in his side that he wants plucked out. Instead, he just lets the statement hang there, idle, as he mulls over recent happenings.

Even as she reassures him – you didn’t fail – Castile cannot help to solemnly stare at the leaves underfoot, fallen from another autumn past. He doesn’t buckle down, doesn’t grovel for forgiveness or wallow in self-pity. The opinion is his own, whereas Oceane’s stands in contrast. In the wake of her response, he sighs with knowing.

Knowing that he isn’t perfect, nor will ever be.
Knowing that he makes one mistake after another.
Knowing that he brings upon self-destruction.

”I know,” is all he says to her in the quiet moment following the rippling snort. He always wanted to be perfect, but the hands he has been dealt always come up short of a full house. What would his parents say of him and of how fleeting heart and volatile ways? A chill cartwheels the length of his spine when he imagines Lior’s booming voice blaring into his ears in reprimand. Although nearing twenty years old, he will always be a boy to his parents. Maybe one day he will finally learn from them and stay true to monogamy and steadfast passion.

Lifting his chin at the mentioning of Alcinder, Castile cannot hold back the coy grin that spreads across the thin line of his lips. Of course Oceane knows – mothers have that intuition and world knowledge that makes them so great. For the first time in their conversation, Castile chuckles. It’s a hearty and gravely sound that compliments his draconic nature, even when he exhibits only the wings. ”He’s a good boy,” he reflects fondly, ”we did well.” Their son, thus far, seems to be a perfect embodiment of their greater qualities (Oceane has more than Castile, naturally). ”I’ll always keep him close,” he confirms with a promising nod and smiling eyes, desperate to swear upon this. ”Maybe one day we will explore far enough that what we do will actually be a secret,” he exudes joy in this, albeit teasing, ”but I doubt it. Mothers always know.” A gentle wind kisses his skin, a reminder of the cold winter upon them and a reminder of the bitterness developed between him and Lepis.

It's a sensitive subject, which he didn’t realize until the topic scalded him like hot iron. A deep breath hisses through his clenched teeth. ”Eventually,” he echoes with a shake of his head, upset even at himself for how things went awry. ”We do not see eye-to-eye right now. I would likely need to wait until she steps down from the throne,” a half laugh rises although there’s nothing really funny about the situation, ”which, I imagine, won’t be until she takes her last breath.” There’s so much behind the closed curtains, but he doesn’t dive into the dramatics and innerworkings of his mind. Oceane is friends with both of them, a mediator in this turbulent time, but Castile doesn’t pester her with soured opinions. ”I can only imagine how great of a Queen you will one day be.” Hesitating first, he reaches forward to touch the curve of Oceane’s jaw, breathing her in and memorizing her as though it will be the last time before reluctantly pulling away with a knowing smile.