Deep in the heart of the jungle, Conquistador listened to the raindrops tapping on the canopy overhead - seeking desperately to find their way, to fulfill their purpose. Nursing the fissures in his aching heart, the palomino stallion thought he knew how they felt. He was straining against the overwhelming burden of his sorrow, and struggling to find answers to the inevitable questions that were born of disaster and despair. But no matter how much Conquistador sifted through the tangled chaos of his thoughts, there was no solace to be found there, no sudden sparks of insight. His heart remained heavy, and his hunger unsated.

Debonaire was dead, and the only legacy he had left behind was a lost and lonely boy.

Inhaling deeply, the young stallion's senses were drowned in the familiarity of the forest that surrounded him. It felt as if Atlantis had always been his home; as if his life had not truly begun until the day he was delivered unto its shore. Leaving would be tantamount to suicide; an end to the only life he had ever known. So Conquistador clung to the tattered remnants of the happiness he had once known - the soothing murmur of the sea, the soft whisper of the wind through the palms. Or rather, the soft whisper of palm fronds parting in the wake of another's passage. A golden figure materialized from the shadows, followed closely by the scent the young stallion had come to associate with Paradise's new leader.

Conquistador struggled to lift his head - to exchange breaths, and stand tall in the face of his eviction.

Instead, he found himself reeling in shock at the words this stranger spoke. "You knew my father?" The words fell haphazardly from between his bloodless lips, tumbling over one another in their haste to be heard. With the answers he'd sought standing before him, Conquistador forgot about Tarrant's offer. More important than the home he'd always known was unraveling the mystery of the man whom he had not.