04-22-2018, 03:53 PM
Castile weighs her words, his mind thoughtfully wrapping around her voice as it echoes in the deeper crevices of his mind. She wants greatness and to fix everything; she wants her name marked down in history like any King or Queen. Mother wanted that as well, but her legacy has since been silenced.
Isn’t that what always happens? A name once loudly spoken becomes a low whisper and then becomes lost on the wind.
But what she says next draws him from the lull of his thoughts. A questioning glance finds her, half expecting her to laugh jokingly, but her face is stoic and reads of her seriousness. ”I—“ he almost answers her immediately because when he looks across Nerine, he sees his childhood. He sees himself jumping in the waves with Ivar and trying to fly. He sees his mother and father, can even feel their warm bodies pressing against him in the way they always had. Nerine was home. It was where his family lived. It was where he belonged.
Was.
The salty breeze tousles his forelock as he looks across the ocean, following Hestia’s eyes to the seagulls and the occasional breaching fish. ”Maybe,” he murmurs, his own mind conflicted. ”I don’t know where to be… I’m torn.” He doesn’t elaborate, resigning with a shake of his head until she suggests flying. What had once been his greatest fear has since become his greatest pleasure.
Despite the internal battled waged inside him, Castile somehow manages to still grin. He doesn’t object to her peeling away from his side even as his skin is suddenly chilled by the emptiness. The fiery wings sprout from her sides, blazing and luring him closer again. His metallic eyes gleam in the same mischievous manner as Hestia’s while nodding in acquiescence. ”Shall we?” He doesn’t bother to shift his feathered wings into those of a dragon. Plain, but nonetheless strong, Castile takes to the sky with sweeping beats, always keeping reasonably close to Hestia.
Isn’t that what always happens? A name once loudly spoken becomes a low whisper and then becomes lost on the wind.
But what she says next draws him from the lull of his thoughts. A questioning glance finds her, half expecting her to laugh jokingly, but her face is stoic and reads of her seriousness. ”I—“ he almost answers her immediately because when he looks across Nerine, he sees his childhood. He sees himself jumping in the waves with Ivar and trying to fly. He sees his mother and father, can even feel their warm bodies pressing against him in the way they always had. Nerine was home. It was where his family lived. It was where he belonged.
Was.
The salty breeze tousles his forelock as he looks across the ocean, following Hestia’s eyes to the seagulls and the occasional breaching fish. ”Maybe,” he murmurs, his own mind conflicted. ”I don’t know where to be… I’m torn.” He doesn’t elaborate, resigning with a shake of his head until she suggests flying. What had once been his greatest fear has since become his greatest pleasure.
Despite the internal battled waged inside him, Castile somehow manages to still grin. He doesn’t object to her peeling away from his side even as his skin is suddenly chilled by the emptiness. The fiery wings sprout from her sides, blazing and luring him closer again. His metallic eyes gleam in the same mischievous manner as Hestia’s while nodding in acquiescence. ”Shall we?” He doesn’t bother to shift his feathered wings into those of a dragon. Plain, but nonetheless strong, Castile takes to the sky with sweeping beats, always keeping reasonably close to Hestia.