Just like any good shadow, he had disappeared in the morning light.

Perhaps his time in Iromar had been for nothing and yet, he had seen enough to know his time there had come to a close nonetheless. Despite his failure to discover Lazarus, he had at least seen the tide that swept Aranck away. The same tide had cleansed the moors of his stink and of his savagery - that tide bore the blessing of Aster and so, Elohim had moved along with that very same time, washed aside for the time being. Yet he had not returned to Asteraia yet, unfamiliar with such failure on his own accord and so, he had drifted back to the sands of Glorall, ready this time for Inanna rather than confrontation. One might say he sought to distract himself and, well, it was not entirely wrong.

His father was absent and so, it was he that decided to respond to the call at the borders with his own ominous howl, a baritone thing stark against the effortless femininity of the newcomer. He is slow though in his approach, his steps long and deliberate as he comes from her right after several minutes - never their front, always concealed by the whisper of a shadow, little more than the blood-orange of his eyes visible as he peers out at her. His father - Glorall's king - might have been confident in his approach, arrogant almost at times, and yet Elohim had always been a quiet thing, a shadowy wraith despite his curiosity. It'd likely never change.

"You are a new face," he had never been formal nor conventional, his greeting simple an observation as his head tilted in curiosity. Glorall seldom saw new faces. Recently, there had been many old one's - companions of his father's from his youth or children born but now grown. But new? Elohim liked new. Newness was a grand cure for failure, he thought.