Velk, anyone;

[Castile]

and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was

Only his labored breaths and beating wings can be heard at the pinnacle of the world. High in the clouds, alone, there is only silence. There is no plague here, no quarrels or destruction. Here, there is peace and beauty. The blue sky embraces him like a lost friend, holding onto him and teasing him with soft winds. Around his face, Castile’s locks whip side-to-side, but he is far too memorized to take notice. Ahead, there is the Cove, a refuge he has heard Solace mention once before. It’s where another two of his children are tucked away and hidden from the ongoing travesty. Their welfare is critical. His heart patters in fear for them.

Castile’s landing isn’t at all graceful. There’s a heavy thud against the sand and he stumbles forward a couple steps before regaining his balance enough to stand. With such frequent traveling, the infection has been able to run rampant through him. A cough or two wrack his body. His ribs are beginning to poke through and his hips are no longer softened by beds of toned muscle. Overnight, his fever runs highest.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop him from reaching the northernmost point of the Cove. His voice, as hoarse as it is, rings as he beckons the twins – wanting only to see their faces, to touch them, to hear their voices.

Little does he know that Valdis never arrived with the others.
He doesn’t know that her path went astray.
He assumed she would follow her brother and mother.

Another cough erupts after shouting their names. Fatigue, as familiar as it is nowadays, drains him and so he retreats to a nearby tree to lean his weight against. It’s a temporary relief, swinging his body away from it only when he glimpses someone approaching. Folding his wings against his sides, he waits. 

castile