He doesn't know what it is that draws him from the light and into the darkest spaces of the tree, but somehow his body is clawed from the world of the living by the creatures of the dark and dragged into the pits of hell. It is a small price to pay for the gifts that he had been given in order to fulfill destiny and it is only when they are done with him, done molding them that they spit him back out onto the earth by the tree he had so dutifully fixed in the Gates.

His eyes are black, the whites matching the form of a demon clearly twisting within his darkened spirit and with a soft sigh he blinks against the glare of the glare of the sun and the bright colors of the light filled kingdom. The shining brightness of the weather is an almost instantaneous irritation and within moments the sky cracks and dark storm clouds begin to roll in from the sea, soon blocking the glare of the sun and the bright blue skies.

It is with another crack and flash of lightning that the rain begins to pour forth from the sky that was suddenly so full of anger and within moments he is soaked to the flesh, his white snakeskin marked coat shining strangely against the dark grasses and threatening backdrop of the storm. "That's better," His voice is thick and deep proving that despite his pull to the underworld he had still aged appropriately. No longer was the curse of Potion's magic taking hold. He was once more a three year old, but naturally so. And with his return came the storm, a natural call to his claim on the throne he had been handed such a short time ago.

The faeries of Beqanna had for some reason seen him fit enough to return to the place he had been chosen for and for some reason he felt the need to pursue the career his father had laid out infront of him. Though it wouldn't be the last place he'd end up, nor would it be his biggest move in what was going to be a long life. This wasn't to be his place forever, nor did he want it to be. Instead he was going to use this to distract himself for whatever it was that was coming. Whatever it was that was causing the strange feeling in his gut.

Slowly he stretches out his long front legs and pushes himself up into a standing position and with smooth movements he shakes his lean yet muscular equine frame before stepping closer to the tree and out of the rain. The canopy of the magical tree did well enough to keep it off him and for a while he stands there, watching the silent kingdom. It was strange how nothing had changed. The demons he had spent time being taught the ways of their kind by had told him off and on about how nobody had stepped forward to claim his throne.

It had been a surprise really, that kingdom ripe for picking had been nothing but simply left to be. As though it was quietly awaiting his return and the differences he would bring. Back when he had first been given the throne he had had no true desire to rule. As he had simply been a child. He had no idea how to run a kingdom, nor what moves to make. But the demons had changed that. Had taught him what to do. Filled his mind with ideas and he had come crawling back from the cracks with a mind full of steps to take in order to assure the kingdom's rise once more.

It is now that he grows entirely still, his breathing barely able to be seen, not even a twitch of his muscles passing through his lithe frame and with time came the tendrils of telepathy reaching and curving away from him before quickly darting through the trees and searching for members of the kingdom or potential recruits. With them carried a simple message, "I have returned and I am waiting. Come and find me." It was time. Time to fulfill the destiny of final change.

tannor.