I don't mind if you're overrated (Herd, Or Kingdom)

[magnus]

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

It does not take long for Magnus to find his way back to the field—this time, with purpose in his heart. He can feel it stirring up ghosts in his belly, and he breathes easily from the sensation of it. For the first time since he had crawled back from the sea, he knew what he had to do: he had to help the Gates. If not for himself, for the memory of her. it would be what Joelle wanted. She would want her, and her father’s, kingdom to thrive again—to overcome the recent tragedies that have struck it.

And he would help make it so.

So his shoulders are straight with each step, his handsome head lifted as he looked around the field for those souls who might call Heaven home. But that is not what he sees—not at first. Instead, he sees the sharp-edged stallion and the young mare, and his gut twists with suspicion. He doesn’t know why, and he can’t put a name to it, but before he can stop himself, he is moving toward the pair, his dark eyes moving from Lokii to the mare before nodding. “Hello to you both,” his voice is throaty—smoke and ash. He holds the other stallion’s gaze steady for a moment, evaluating him, before turning toward the mare.

“My name is Magnus.” There is another pause before he gives a shadow of a smile, his lacerated lips curled in the edges. “I wouldn’t be too concerned about the dangers of the field. There are usually more good souls than the bad. You should be safe here.” His gaze slips back to the stallion beside him, and there are unspoken things that he does not dwell on. Magnus had always trusted himself in a fight, regardless of whether he fought the mystical or not. “Although there’s nothing wrong with wanting a little trouble.” At this, he winks a little, trying to lift the suddenly heavy mood of the conversation.

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.