Gone was the age of his father. Of his father’s father, whose name Wyrm has never known, nor will ever know. And with it, so was the old wolf silenced. It had been what seemed like centuries since the striking green stallion had seen any indication of his family. Perhaps (since the unusual seems to have become so regular in this place) they have faded with the wane of magical powers, laid low by the inability to flex the muscle they’ve become so dependant upon. Whatever the reason for their disappearance, Wyrm cannot think that it should concern him any longer. He hears no whispers of kingdoms warring, smells no magic in the air, tastes no blood. Instead, he’s left to watch the seasons pass one by one, all the while his body remains untouched by the time that so eagerly eats away at other living creatures.
He supposes that he’s traded his gifts, in some sense. The entire purpose of gaining the Gates throne had been to secure immortality until he could make his next move. In a world where everything subjects itself to the whim of decay, Wyrm knew that stolen time was his only hope. So he’d taken only a minor gift from the kingdom and left it at that. What other need did he have for power? He’d been born with such an immense gift that previously, it had been unnecessary to strive for more.
But now … now things were different. The anger of the Gods had come down upon them all, so that they could suffer. Waking one morning and finding that he’d become powerless had nearly crippled the once terrifying horse. Then again, he was who he was, so in essence even death without power was only a dark foreboding until he’d begun to realize that he had been left with something. The moment Wyrm recognized the smooth lines of his nose never greying he’d chuckled to himself. What was there to fret about if he now had all the time in the world to gain back what he’d lost?
Nothing. In fact, it fueled him.
WYRM
Offspring of Lupei x Zojja