I counted my blessings, now I'll count this curse; oksana

[magnus]

we all carry these things that no one else can see
they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea

Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn’t been the rage. The situation erupted so quickly that he almost did not have a moment to react, and he fell back on instinct. Lifting himself into a half rear in defense, his ears pin back to his head and his lips pull back into a snarl. Later, he would think about how incredible it was that he could so quickly pick up the sword again and be ready for a fight—how easily battle came to him. But in the heat of the moment, he did not consider it. He snapped like a venomous snake startled and came down hard on the earth as she so quickly fell back from the offensive. Sidestepping, he shook his head so that the tangled ink of his mane fell on both sides of his thick neck, ears still flattened.

“You should be careful,” he said darkly, his voice smoke and ash. What goes unsaid is that next time, he may not be able to control himself; next time, he may not just defend. Rattled by the encounter, he takes another step backward away from her, shaking his head in agitation and shifting his weight uneasily. “I would be sorry to be whoever you thought that I was.” Of course, he had no idea how true that statement was; how sorry he would be to be the brother that he had murdered and whose own murdering ways had dragged him back from the ocean. How sorry he would be to come face-to-face with his counterpart.

“What a…” he pauses and the gravel is still in his voice, in his throat, “pleasure to meet you, Oksana.” His lacerated lips pull into the smallest of smiles, the stallion still keeping the distance between them. Not out of fear for what might happen to him, but how he might respond in turn. It had been a long time since he had the release of a fight and he was not sure that he would be able to control himself if she prompted another one again. The last thing he wanted was to lash out like that. “My name is Magnus.”

They say that names can have power, but he has to wonder if they can lose it over time. His was a name lost into the bowels of history; a name that once carried weight and now was covered in dust. There were few that still had it carved into their hearts, and they were few and far between. For the most part, his generation was long gone. Lost to the grasp of death or the wandering of the immortal. Few from his time had lasted throughout the years—and he had no way of knowing that she was somehow tied to his family.

Considering her for a second, he nodded. “Perhaps you should go.” It certainly had not been the most pleasant of greetings and whatever ghost she saw in the planes of his face still haunted the depths of her eyes. He knew those demons; he knew just how difficult it could be to shake them. Silence stretches between them—so taut that he was surprised the air between them did not shatter. “Or perhaps you should stay.” Because they shared something between them that could not be explained by either side.

MAGNUS

once king. once general. once dead.