Though the sun continued to rise with each dawn, it could not drive away the darkness that had consumed Conquistador's life. Little of its light managed to penetrate the thick canopy of the trees; the jungle that had become his home existed in a state of eternal twilight. When the young stallion and his family had first come to this place, the shadows had soothed him - they had promised oblivion, and an escape from the images that tormented his mind. But as time had passed, Conquistador's silent vigil of grief had yielded to the torturous burden of the truth. Debonaire was dead - killed by his own brother - and Sahin...Sahin...

Expelling his breath in a harsh snort, the palomino shook his head as if to scatter this thought to the winds. But his mind was persistent, pursuing the thread to its inevitable conclusion - Conquistador had lost not one father, but two. Anger surfaced to war with sorrow as the young stallion struggled to understand, to figure out why Sahin had turned his back on him. The days that had followed Debonaire's death were a haze, but he remembered the musk of an unknown male, and the distress that had finally managed to break through the impenetrable barrier of Xina's despair. Perhaps Sahin had expected Conquistador to defend their home, but the sight of the stallion who so strongly resembled his father had frozen the boy. By the time his wooden limbs moved to obey his command, Xina had driven her children deep into the heart of the jungle, and there was no turning back.

The family could only wait - and watch - as their world slowly came apart at the seams.

Sahin made no effort to expel the invader; instead, the stallion chose to exist peaceably beside the stranger. As the buckskin stallion explored the home that was now his, Conquistador was forced further into the forest to avoid detection - now the intruder in what had been his home for almost the entirety of his life. Haunting the border between Atlantis's two territories, the boy nursed the wounds inflicted by Sahin's betrayal, and bore the burden of his remorse. Was this how his brother had felt when Conquistador had rejected him in favor of the family he had built here? He had not known it was possible to endure such anguish, and Sahin was not even bound to him by blood - how much more had Rade suffered?

Though time seemed to move slower in his self-imposed solitude, days marched inexorably past. Autumn yielded to winter - though the differences between these two seasons were almost imperceptible on Atlantis - and the familiar scents of those with whom he had lived in Paradise faded. With nothing but his memories to cling to, Conquistador dwelled often on his father's final moments, trying to piece together the disjointed images and sounds, and somehow make sense of it all. But the restless cacophony of the jungle made it difficult for him to concentrate; Conquistador longed for the quiet sanctuary of the sandbar, and the soothing murmur of the sea. And before he could stop them, his legs had carried him to the shore.

Breathless from his journey through the jungle, Conquistador paused at the place where it had happened. The tides had smoothed the scars their hooves had left in the sand, and carried Debonaire's corpse out to sea. There was no trace of the blood that had stained the ground - had it been washed away by the waves, or was it simply buried beneath a new layer of bone-white sand? Either way, nothing remained to suggest the struggle that had taken place here - Paradise appeared as peaceful, as pristine, as ever.

Except, of course, that Conquistador now knew it was not.

The weight of the truth pressed heavily upon him, and the young stallion succumbed to its burden. His legs folded abruptly beneath him, and he lay there as still as his sire had been in death, tears tracing twin paths down his cheeks. It mattered little to him in this moment whether it was Debonaire or Rade who was ultimately responsible for his father's fate - he only hoped that, when the tides rose again, they would carry him away too.