Midas is far from a true gentleman except perhaps to the ones he calls family. He is a king – a king of the old order. Raised under the harsh rule of a Greek bachelor lord, he often treats mares as trinkets, flirts but it means nothing in the end. However, throughout his life, there have been a few special ones that have meant more than that.

Sylvia.

He still remembers the day they met, the day he took her too the Quarry and showed her around. Midas remembers how proud he was of those towering rocks, and how all of his hiding places were tucked away in secret, and only shared with the ones he called family. The ridge feels like the Quarry. It still has the tropical weather and deep jungles that Midas adores about Atlantis – but its rocky shell combines what he loved so much about the Quarry.

In many ways, Midas is starting over, and it feels fitting to start in a place that resembled his first home on the islands so many years ago.

His heart feels heavy, the image of the harbour in desolation keeps flashing before his eyes. Midas reaches the crest of one of the ridges. He hears the waves slap angrily against the stone far below him. He feels the cross breeze from the ocean and the land as it whistles past his ears and through his mane. He lets his head roll back as he tries to clear his mind and let go of the haunting images he has seen.

“το λιμάνι είναι ένα σπίτι για την αναποφάσιστοι, η κορυφογραμμή είναι ένα σπίτι για το σκοτάδι. Eh, Brother?” He whispers to the sky and into the breeze. He wills his words to carry to the afterlife, if there is an afterlife. Has Midas found religion in his travels? He has not decided, but he believes in ghosts, the creatures that haunt him daily, and the curse that has fallen on the islands is enough to convince him that the darkness is real…and that he belongs to it.

The ridge will make a strong fortress he decides as he scans the area. There are plenty of hiding places, easy routes to escape, and even easier areas to guard. He trots forward again, heading over a few more steppes before coming to another high drop-off. He glances down at the foreboding rocks and waves – yes, this is definitely a formidable territory.

Apollo creeps lower in the sky. The ridge faces south so it neither gets the full beauty of sunrise or the sunset, but the glow still reaches the greenery and turns it to a shade of purple, and the blue still reflects the brilliant colors of the setting sun. Midas sees something in the fading light. A creature lies near the edges of the ridge, an equine to be exact. His heart skips a beat because the color reflecting is almost pearly in nature. He had always called Sylvia his pearly girl, but why would she be here? He has not seen another with a pelt like hers in all these years of travel, but how could she be here? Was he hallucinating?

Midas tries to shake his head, but each time he still sees the body lying there. He is conflicted; does he go forward or walk away? What if it’s not Sylvia, and what if it is…what if it’s her corpse and she has fallen prey to whatever demons afflict this world?

He swallows and convinces him it’s an illusion, or a dream. He decides he is seeing things from his long swim and exhaustion is clouding his mind, but still he prowls forward. Quietly, almost timidly, he walks. Stones and pebbles fall away as his hooves strike the earth. He leans in, his breath coming in short bursts as his nostrils flare at the creature. His heart beats so loudly Midas fears it will fall out of his chest. It looks like Sylvia, it smells like her…at least…what he can remember her smelling like. The scent of different stallions lingers faintly on her skin and Midas feels a twang of anger rise in his throat but convinces himself, yet again, that this is all just a dream.

So instead of falling into jealous rage, he allows his own body to fall next to hers. He lays as close as he can and curls his long legs underneath his golden frame. Then he brings his chiseled face to rest on her withers and closes his eyes, “Σύλβια, μαργαριτάρι μου, σ 'αγαπώ.”It is the first time Midas has ever uttered those words, in Greek, or in local tongue, not even Aria had heard them. Midas hadn’t realized it all those years ago, but in his heart he realizes he has known his feelings all along.

Sylvia is his and his alone, and if this was a dream, Midas never wants to wake up.