Once more, a restlessness had stirred in his soul.

The sooty-coated station emerges from some unknown depths of the land in a routine that had become a ritual by now. So often had he retreated and returned before that this time feels no different.

At least, that's how it seems at first.

He'd been blind to the catastrophes of recent years, the earthquakes and tornadoes, the losses and rebirths. Sequestered in his solitude somewhere in the central forests and valleys of Beqanna, Everclear’s ignorance had pervaded as it often had. The last time he had taken any interest in the goings-on, there had been little of interest. The only thing that had caught his attention had been the humble revival of the Amazonian beliefs. One kingdom – oh, what was its name? Nerine, right? – had strove to resurrect the fiery feminine mentality and he'd been piqued by it for sure, but it had still not quite been the same.

Some part of him regrets not sticking around, though. That regret will deepen once he realizes that place has now been stolen away again.

The magics of Beqanna never cease in their fickle ways, always giving and taking without precedent.

Perhaps subconsciously, he has found himself in the western lands, foregoing his usual pattern of returning to the Meadow. In the recesses of his mind, he has wondered whether he might find familiar faces here, where once there had been rocky beaches and coarse sands.

Instead he has found a rather familiar scene of would-be lush greenery and vast, rolling hills of a comfortable landscape. Memories stir of a life once lived in a land much like this one, even in its muted wintry dressings. He had called this place home so many, many years ago.

Everclear lifts his head, ears forward as he surveys the Gates. It seems empty here, solemn and quieter than it had been in his days here. Standing alone atop one of the median hills, a quiet whicker of questioning shudders from his lungs, carried along the waves of a gentle, biting wind at his back. It is a simple greeting - is anyone here?

Of all things in his long life, it seems evident that Everclear should be glad he has largely avoided certain touches of magic. His immortality has perhaps tempered his curiosity, disinclining him from seeking much more than he’s been given. He has seen wonders of all scales, has struggled against more than enough of them, and suffered at the hands of many.

In the end, he does not think he would wish such burdens upon any other. Not anymore, at least.

To be troubled by grim memories is a struggle all its own; to be plagued by true ghosts would be quite a gruesome curse indeed. He had worried, so long ago, over watching his loved ones fade while he lingered on, but at least for him death has always been a finite end. He would not know how to cope with the spirits of the lost returning to him.

Thankfully, he need not entertain the notion now. He is unaware of Narya’s powers and sees only a mare, velvet-colored and glimmering in the pale fading-winter’s light. Despite the bright flickers of her coat, though, something seems unfortunately muted about her. Her haunted eyes and mild greeting are enough to further provoke Everclear’s own minor melancholy. She seems a near perfect accent for the loneliness of this place and it stirs a disquieted sort of sadness in his chest.

“Hello,” he echoes her, lowering his head slightly to subconsciously match the bleak aura around them both. “I wasn’t sure there would be anyone else around,” he observes plainly. “Do you live here?” He awaits her answer, almost certain that the usual pleasantries of introduction will follow – he offers his name, if it is asked – but a more pertinent question then rises to his mind.

When the proper lull arises between them, he decides to speak it: “If you don’t mind me asking…why do you seem so sad?” His eyes do not portray any intent to offensively pry nor to further the weight of whatever burden might be upon her. Rather, he studies her with a wizened gentleness borne by one who has seen vast measures of sorrow in his time.

He may have been cruel once, in a time now long past. When he was young, when he was angry, when he was lost. He’d been mad, too, a literal lifetime ago.

Some might say that love and fatherhood had softened him. And in some sense, that may be true. But, to him, it was finding a true cause to stand for. It was in defending the Gates that he’d truly found purpose and a reason to tether his anger, rope it and bind it only to be released when it was truly necessary.

All of that, nearly a century ago now, had left him quieted, muted and calm.

Narya’s initial answer to his question somewhat piques his interest: her parents had lived here. A flickering, whispering wonder passes through his thoughts – how long ago was that? Had he known them?

Likely not. His tenure in the Gates had been quite brief in comparison to others. But he nods along anyway because he knows that this kingdom (as he still sees it) is ancient and many lives have come and gone upon its soil. He also knows that it had been lost for quite some time, tucked away and forbidden to all by the wiley magics of Beqanna, and he, too, wonders briefly if it has changed.

Looking out, it is still an idyllic land, serene in its apparent vacancy and comforting. While some devils do wear crowns of flowers, as he knows, Everclear does not believe that corruption would ever touch this place. It is simply too kind in the very roots of the trees, the veins of the earth, to abide such evils as discrimination or occlusion.

His secondary question causes a mild shift in her mind that he does not need magic to sense and he nearly regrets asking her just as she regrets hearing it. It seems his skills in communication have not stood the test of time as well as the rest of him. Her answer is vague and he accepts it with a nod of understanding; she need not elaborate.

“I will not pry,” he assures her in his usual steady voice. “I know all too well the burdens of this world and how difficult they can be to bear.” A twitch of his shoulder accompanies the words, a dull reflexive response to memories of old pains.

She gives him her name and he nods again as if to thank her. Her face has brightened and so does his. “Hello Narya. My name is Everclear.” It feels a bit strange to say it after all this time without having met anyone else, just as it always does.

“I was part of this place, once… Though others at the time might have disagreed.” Had he ever truly belonged? They never fully accepted him, even when he’d fought for and won their freedom. Perhaps that is why he had grown despondent – not because his queen had left him, but because he could not convince the herd of his devotion to them.

Loyalties then were hard-won; allegiances were hard-proven.

“Pardon an old man’s reverie,” he obliges her with a meek smile and another twitch of his withers. “I’ve returned to see what’s become of the Gates… but unfortunately it seems almost abandoned.”

If she had felt like unloading her burden upon him, like telling him of her worries and woes, he would not have turned her away. As he’d said, his understanding of the trials their lives in this magical land often faced; he would gladly listen to her troubles and provide support if it seemed prudent. That has always been his way – when he had felt similar, overwhelmed and unsure, he had sought the support of others. He likes to think he is capable of providing such a service in return.

As it is, she does not seem willing to discuss whatever weighs upon her mind so he does not press the matter.

Instead, he aims to distract. He tells her his name and she repeats it in a tone that suggests calmness. He smiles as she does, glad to have provided some diversion to her thoughts.

She builds further upon his words of belonging and a tinge of sadness finds its way to his smile when she states that she has never truly ‘been a part of anything.’ A low breath leaves his lungs and he dips his head. “Sometimes devoting yourself to a cause can be troublesome in its own ways,” he admits, “but it does have its rewards.” He wonders, though, if his time in the Gates back then had really been beneficial to the kingdom itself or if he had, as so many claimed, really been more of a blight upon their culture.

Narya asks him of the past and the sadness leaves him then, replaced by a more distant sort of stoicism. It does seem strange to him how the lands are no longer divided between moral allegiances – he had noticed that the last time he’d sought to mingle with the general populace. Similar to her inability to grasp the concept, he had not quite understood how the lines had become so blurred.

Truly, how is one meant to tell who to trust these days?

“It was indeed one of the ‘good’ kingdoms,” he obliges with a nod. “Heaven’s Gates and the Dewdrop Deserts were both more or less designated for the more pure-hearted inhabitants of Beqanna. The Gates tended to be home for those of us with less magic than others while the Deserts were home to many who had wonderful powers. I suppose time has changed both aspects now,” he finishes with a vague shrug and swish of his tail.

“Between you and me, though,” he adds, “I am not sure the allegiances of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ were truly measured or observed, back in those days. Before, when Beqanna was younger, perhaps. But in my time…” He trails off somewhat thoughtfully. He had lived in the Valley, after all, though he had never been cruel or evil by nature and neither had the majority of its residents.

It doesn’t seem worth mentioning, though, so instead he meets her eyes again. “Perhaps you could fill me in on the more recent events around Beqanna? I fear I have once again been away for much too long.”