[open] It's a new day, it's a new plan [ANY]

[Cicero]

I have always been more curious and brave than fearful but that day on the mountain top rocked me hard. I regretted not staying and searching for my family among the chaos of fear and confusion of the crowd, a ghost that may forever haunt me. I searched for a remnant of the Falls I had spent my entire life living so close to, but the mist was impenetrable. So thick, you could not see, hear or smell. Over time it receded a little but I was left at it's mercy, forced to have patience to see what it would reveal, when it so inclined. I longed for the security of home, for friends and family, for familiarity, but it was gone. With every inch I scoured, without so much as a scent of my mother or father, left me hollow with loneliness. I can't tell how much time has passed, or if time is even the same in this new world.

This is the closest place I've found to home. The cascade of water is weak compared to the roar of what I remember. It doesn't produce much of a mist either but it is all I have. Combined with the open field it's as close as it gets. I stand as near as possible, finding some hope and comfort in the sound. There's a crispness in the autumn air accentuated by the cool spray coming off the water and I can feel where my palomino winter coat hasn't begun to come in yet. I'm so lost. Not geographically, well maybe that way too, but lost as in I have nowhere to go, no purpose to serve. This age is hard enough, trying to figure out who I am, seek some independence, but this... this is hard.

It's a new day, it's a new start,
It's alive with the beating of young hearts.

[magnus]

— find what you love and let it kill you —

Much had changed in Beqanna since the reckoning, so it was comforting to know that the field remained the same. Despite everything that had shifted, reformed, the field was still the place where souls came when they simply did not know where else to go. It is where Magnus went when purpose had drained from his heart. It is where he had ventured for years upon years—seeking out those who had the same questions, the same fears. It had become a passion of his to haunt this field and help others find their way. It had become a way for him to help others. While he always hoped they would follow him to his own home, he did not mind when they didn’t—not if he was able to guide them to a better choice for them.

It was this same fire in his heart that had him walk toward the young lad.

The air was dramatically cooler here than it was in Tephra, where the volcano kept the land hot and the air humid. He had grown to like it—even the bitter bite of sulphur when you got too close. It reminded him of the jungle in its wild, uncontrollable beauty. There was something dangerous about it, something fierce and feral. He slept at night knowing lava rivers ran and saltwater rushed up the shores. There was nothing gentle about the land, and he felt that was fitting. It was fitting for him to end up in a place so ruthless.

“Hello,” he greeted casually as he walked near the other, coming to a stop several feet away. “My name is Magnus.” He had never been very good at launching immediately into a sales pitch whenever he came into the field; he preferred to take his time. Some found it frustrating—a waste of time—but not everyone. He would rather get to know someone and learn their story before launching into why they should follow him home; it felt like the backward approach. “What brings you to the field today?”

magnus

[Tiphon]

BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON

Tiphon, lost to his memories and his pain, succumbs to the need to roam. The warmth of Ischia was at his back when he took flight and it wasn’t long until the tropical climate dissipated and waned as the season of winter choked the mainland. Blistery winds greeted him and although these temporary wings are much smaller than the grandeur of what he had been born with Tiphon still navigated with practiced ease until he had settled into the field. He alights gingerly and favors his cracked front hoof. How he managed to injure himself he isn’t sure, but the lack of magic in his being is taunting him now. He could so easily heal himself once before, but the reckoning stripped him of everything. Unable to rejuvenate himself Tiphon is forced to suffer, forced to be a mere mortal.

It’s with this limp that he joins them, but despite the pain climbing up his leg he still carries himself with dignity and with the expression of a soldier. The concept of discomfort is new to him; each time he experienced pain it had been short-lived as magic sewed the muscle fibers back together or immediately mended his wounds. With this, he isn’t sure how long his misery will last.

The two have only just met with Magnus’ name still idly waiting for a reply. ”I’m Tiphon,” he brusquely adds to the conversation as a languid grin softens the ridges of his porcelain face. ”I hope the winter has been kinder to you both than me,” a play of humor riddles his voice while glancing down to the large quarter crack splitting his hoof. Perhaps it would be best if he remained on the island and took comfort in the tide, but alas, their home is still being built, still strengthening. It’s here that he must be to increase their numbers, and so he puts aside his personal pain for the good of his home as always.

TIPHON

STARLACE AND INFECTION