The world is a stranger place than it used to be.
Of course, Ramiel is young and only aware of the differences between now and then because his mother has told him. She said that before her mother’s time, even, the landscape of Beqanna was completely dissimilar. Horses hadn’t carried so many extras with them, hadn’t worn as many horns of exotic animals or had such strong powers that nearly rivaled the magicians. There hadn’t even been as many magicians as there seems to be now, roaming the lands in search of their next, great show.
Ramiel himself had been completely normal once, too. Before Carnage had pulled him from his childhood, he’d been a spindly black colt, unremarkable in every way (except for the showing of angelic blood as gold streaks in his hair). But that trip had changed everything. That trip had changed him to the very core of his being. He hardly remembers himself before he began to die over and over. Life has a funny way of taking on more significance when you’ve seen the Other Side.
He is very much alive as he walks about the kingdom. My kingdom, he reminds himself, one I am solely responsible for now. It’s all happened so fast that it’s hard for him to comprehend. Barely a year had passed since he returned from Carnage’s mission before his father had woken him that morning and given him the crown. Everything weighs heavily on him, now. Every choice is not his own; there are others to consider in every action he takes. But the kingdom has raised him, and though he is still relatively young, he knows he will always try to do right by them.
The greying stallion heads towards the border, intending to make the long trek to the Field, when he comes across her. A mare, he thinks, if he can call her that. Her white skin is cracked and light glows faintly underneath it. It reminds him of his sister, but in all other ways, it is clear this woman is something far different. Crimson willow branches trail down her neck and hindquarters, as if she’s replaced her mane and tail with bits of nature. Her eyes are the strangest of all, shining a vibrant green and lacking a pupil. She reminds him of the living earth, of a walking plant. She is all things he is not – life while he is death – and it draws him in like a moth to a flame.
“Welcome to the Dale, I’m Ramiel.” He ignores the fact that she’s similarly ignored their borders. The mare looks like she’s been through enough (looks like she’s just been birthed straight from a willow tree, in fact) and possibly doesn’t know every social nicety the kingdoms impose. A polite smile curves his lips but he’s more intrigued than gracious at this point. “May I ask your name and what you seek here?”
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again