There will be scars, Straia.

[Erebor]

We are at war. There will be scars.

Straia describes his grandfather, and the boy is nostalgic. "I wish I'd known him." He imagines Atrox as a panther, imagines what it would be like to be that kind of creature. But he also knows that the Chamber would suck away the power, and that he would give it gladly, so it's nothing more than empty curiosity. He would never give up the Chamber just to know that kind of power.

She speaks of the disasters and he listens, not knowing that she thinks of his other grandfather, of Rodrik, as she speaks. He imagines each place, a waterfall with no water, the lush Gates consumed by fire, the hot and humid jungle consumed by snow. He purses his lips. No, that is no natural disaster. Things do not simply become their polar opposite, at least not without a little bit of help from magicians.

He is silent for a moment, looking at the Chamber around him, pensive and considering. The ashes seem to press down on them for a moment, the silence as heavy as it would've been in the middle of the pine forests. But there are no trees, no branches, no boughs, not yet. Surely their loss has been greatest, surely out of all of them they’ve got the most rebuilding to do. Trees like that cannot regrow overnight. They die in fire, and when they return they will be taller and stronger, but it will always take time.

"Magic." he says, and it is a statement, flat and without awe. It is all around them in the world, wielded by all the mythical kingdoms, and by other horses besides. He is not afraid of it; it makes no more sense to fear magic than it does to fear the volcanos, or fear a falling tree. They are all facts of nature (or unnature, as the case may be) and they're as real as the clouds in the sky or the puffs of ash that still rise from the untouched areas within the Chamber, still not washing away despite the passing years.

"Do you have any kind of magic, mother?" he asks, but with the curiosity of a boy asking a scientific question rather than the blind illusionism that colts usually have about their mothers. He is asking because he is curious, not because he thinks her magical. He suspects that she is not, that both of his parents are (more or less) normal. That their only magic comes in the form of hard work, determination, and a healthy dose of love for the Chamber.

And really, that's the only kind of magic he wants. Eight and Atrox can keep their mischief-magic and their panther-shifting. The black boy is only interested in the magic of muscles pressed into service, of training and preparation, and finally, of total and complete obedience to the Chamber. The peace of absolute service.

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia