the glass candles are burning; Gates group/any

[Wayra]

Wayra wore the autumn night like a cloak. She let the darkness wrap around her, and it was a velvety blackness that forbade anything but low whispers. The blue girl sighed. She wouldn’t have spoken anyways, and so her slinking cloak of night was not a heavy burden. She had watched them, Kirin’s family, with hooded, curious eyes. The expression made her face look more animated, more real. They were undeniably real, and so in their presence Wayra herself seemed to become more whole.

She had followed them from the Gates, a cold ghost that brought premature winter to the trees. When they had met the mountains she knew that they must have been drawing close. Wayra’s throat constricted slightly, and her icy breath became shallow. Soon, very soon, they would be there. The little blue girl swallowed, and closed her eyes against the pain that lanced through her breast. It was an old pain, a familiar one, but the sting never lessened. Most of her heart was cold, a dead thing that lived on due to magic alone. But, there was a part of her, a small part, that was still soft and silly, was still a girl. That was the part that hurt when her heart beat too fast, when the permeating ice touched warm flesh. Wayra swallowed again, and rearranged her expression into something that wasn’t silly, soft and broken.

Wayra saw the the top of the iron stallion’s head before the rest came into view. She blinked, her fluttering eyes seemingly out of place on her otherwise still expression. This, surely, must be it. Unbidden, Wayra’s lips parted slightly, and she felt something stir in her belly. Her reaction was visceral for a girl born of ice and snow. For a moment she was excited, perhaps even a little afraid, and it blazed in her eyes for a flickering moment as she turned to the mare and stallions who had come to get them. She looked between Kersey, Kult and Raelynx, addressing her question to them all.

“Your home?” It was an easy presumption to make, and her eyes fluttered back to the cove before they could answer. She looked at the waves, at the obsidian glass, but mostly she looked for him, that purple boy who had started all of this. Slowly, a little slyly, Wayra smiled. She had forgotten to breathe, and when she did remember it didn’t seem necessary.

[Kirin]

And she'll always get the best of me, the worst is yet to come
All the misery was necessary when we're deep in love

Time.

Time was an enemy, at first. Now, now, it was a weapon. It was his weapon, their weapon and they would use it. Use it, as they would use, as they would consume, as they would create many things. They had been so loyal, his family and an adoration for them all had grown within him. Even for Raelynx, the one he could scarce look at for long. Yes, even the scarred boy had won over his cold brother’s favor, though he sought it not. It doesn’t matter to Kirin what they seek from him though, he would give to them as he saw fit. They had earned so much already.

It’s not long before he spots the caravan of both siblings, and captives. The Gates had been much more abundant with treasures than one might have guessed, even Kirin was surprised at the numbers that returned. He had sent few and they had brought back many. The more, the merrier they say. The Cove was as merry a place as any, Kirin thought so.

Merrier even now.

He doesn’t pull back from the bitter air that bites as he approaches. He doesn’t pull his wings forward from their flight to shield his face. He breathes deeply, unafraid that his lungs might crystallize from the cold. That the considerable freeze might drop him from the skies like a seized gull and leave a pastel mess in his wake. His thoughts do not consider these outcomes because he had once tasted the snow that the woman had brought, had felt the slowing of his own heart before the winter wielder. He had tasted her gifts and he wanted nothing more than to consume them, to consume her. But that would have to wait, there would be plenty of time to be alone later.

He lands before them, whipping his wings back to his sides and pulling forward to the blue mare. Disregarding for now the gaggle of children that crossed his borders, closing the distance between them to breathe heavy, warm, air in her face. “Wayra” A pleased smile graces his maw, one that is heavy with a smugness that only one as Kirin might feel.

Kirin

son of Khaos