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
It didn’t take a lot of convincing. The idea sprung on him immediately on his arrival as his eyes hungrily sifted through the tropical palm trees and sandy beach. Somehow, it seemed right, like this needed to be his. Although there lacks a volcano – he is a child of brimstone and fire – there is at least seclusion and a tropical gale to house his cold-blooded children.
But naturally, there is opposition.
Shortly after confiding in Sochi, Castile veered into the heart of the island. Scales rippled across his skin, bringing him to life as black smoke coils from his nostrils in anticipation. A deep, throaty call rattles from the pit of his chest and carries on the late-winter breeze. Spring is around the corner. The timing of his decision would be perfect if he was expecting children this season, but there is still Gilt and Reia to consider – his two youngest.
Tiphon, placid in his thoughtfulness, is abruptly ripped from his musings when he hears the heavy baritone of an outsider’s voice. It tears through the trees and cuts the air like butter to reach him. Slowly, somehow beautifully, his head turns to look in the direction of the source. Standing regally, he waits but returns the call in a voice like silk.
Castile’s progression through the territory quickens upon receiving the rebuttal. His teeth elongate, poking jaggedly past his lips as his body transforms. His hooves reach out into claws and his torso stretches until a dragon is what enters Tiphon’s vision. ”Oh, well okay.” The angel steps forward then, his body illuminated radiantly as he takes a stand, ”Not what I was expecting, but carry on.” A pleasant expression – despite the situation – paints across his face as his molten eyes lift to the dragon’s elongated muzzle. ”Can I help you?” But he almost knows what the purpose is, what lies in wait.
”The Island. It’s mine now,” his voice is a threatening hiss, his serpentine eyes narrowed to match the snarl stretching across his lips. ”That’s a problem, you see—“ but before Tiphon can finish his statement, Castile lunges forward. The angel dances away with his wings unfurled. He wants to fight back, to hold his stance, but he has nothing to sway the outcome. There’s no way to take down a dragon. Still defiant, ”Stand down!” But Castile knows no reason, not when his mind has been skewed and confident in its decision. There’s no turning back, no cowering in the corner. His muzzle snaps forward, his jaws clapping down but only grasping a feathery wing. Tiphon screams, a noise that even in pain sounds like a beautiful chord of a harp, ringing musically as blood stains his wing and dribbles down onto his shoulder.
That coppery taste truly wakes up Castile and stirs the creature lying in wait within him.
He releases his grip on Tiphon. The angel reels back quickly with labored breaths expanding his lungs. He wants to yell stop, but when he peers up into the slit pupils of the creature, he knows there is no settling. Castile lunges again, though this time with a talon that slices into Tiphon’s right shoulder. The sheer power and impact tosses him aside, stumbling and falling. ”This is a refuge. Have you no hea—“ Another lurch forward, another bite, but this time on the crest of Tiphon’s neck.
But then, everything clicks.
Amid the bloodshed, Tiphon’s lost memories flash across his eyes. Everything comes back, hitting him nearly as hard as his opponent’s attacks.
But why?
His breaths are panting as he lies on his side, unable to immediately stand. Blood – his blood – splatters across his porcelain skin and winds in rivulets down to the ground underneath. It was drawn not by anyone, but by kin.
Is that all that was required? It takes nearly losing his life to actually return it?
Pain flashes across his eyes, but somehow Tiphon still looks up. His life’s experiences play rapidly, his mind swirling and storming as everything returns, including knowledge that has been somehow harbored and hidden since Beqanna first shifted and since the void that he nested in for however many years. As he groans, Castile is looming nearer – the Grim Reaper – hungry for blood and power.
”Stop,” Tiphon murmurs through clenched teeth as he musters the strength to finally stand. His right wing droops to the ground and his shoulder trembles, sliced open. ”It’s yours. The Island is yours,” but his voice isn’t so sing-song or meek as he resigns. A shadowed, fierce expression furrows his brow as he limps forward a single step. ”Please, though. I have only wanted it to be a sanctuary. Just let it remain that, and then he pauses as the memories and recollections continue to return with increased vibrancy, ”A place for families.” Castile hesitantly retracts, poised to finally kill, but he isn’t so heartless as to not listen or take Tiphon’s words into consideration. ”Fine,” he replies gruffly as his neck arches, his expression skeptical.
Knowing that he has lost, that he has willingly offered the Island to Castile, Tiphon tries to finally steady his breath. ”You are Nayl’s son,” he had met her only a couple times shortly after he helped take on Ischia while she was in Nerine, ”My great-grandson. Family.” He speaks through his clenched teeth, experiencing the pain even as his magic weaves into his veins and into his muscles to heal the damage already done. ”Just let me stay and heal anyone that needs it,” not entirely, he doesn’t add even as he realizes how thickly the sickness runs through Castile’s body.
Still skeptical, but surprised nonetheless, the dragon stares silently at the angel. He blinks once, twice…
”Fine,” he says again with a curt nod, his body shrinking and cracking until he is once again a horse. He stands defiantly in front of Tiphon. ”Live here. Families will live here, and you will heal, but I am the Island’s new leader.” The porcelain male simply nods, not expecting empathy so soon. With his gilted eyes cast down, he acquiesces with a quiet nod. Castile, content with that, shoulders past the angel, smug in his victory. Only once he has left, far from earshot, Tiphon slowly shakes his head and murmurs to himself, "Only a coward shows up to a fight as a dragon," yet he still grin in amusement while glancing back across his shoulder to where the new leader disappeared through the trees. "He'll learn..." as he stumbles forward and rests, waiting for his body to slowly mend itself while he tries to sift through the memories that have long since been out of reach, smiling to himself.
castile
