He watched closely, keenly, as Arturio investigated the markers that had been placed with the dead. Some had bodies, others did not. Did that mean they weren't gone either? Their former gravekeeper had claimed they still spoke to her but Wraith was not entirely sure; he had not known them enough to be sure if the voices that prattled about in his mind were theirs or another's. He had no doubt that the woman had left for Iromar for the dead that rested there. Perhaps one day he ought to speak to Arturio about their defector but for now, it was much too much a somber moment to interupt with something so mediocre.
Wraith did not comment on the assertion that the dead were never truly gone. He knew it well, after all. Even if they did not speak nor walk the same fields, the dead left after marks. Praetor was, at his core, one of those marks despite he and Wraith never having been able to truly understand one another. Ah, indeed, Wraith believed that Praetor had been in the dark even when it came to the pair of them. Such was their family - cursed to die or drift.
Only when Arturio asked for the story did he turn towards him. He considered him for a moment before his lip twitched, the slightest sign of a would-be grin before he turned back to face the place where Praetor lay at rest. "Praetor...ah, Aster's father," he nodded though his voice edged onto a greeting, as if he spoke directly to his nephew too, "he was...born to Tesseract." He doubted the name would mean much to Arturio and yet, he had grown unafraid to utter it and so, he did. It was almost a challenge for his older brother to find him. "He and I...half-brothers. He...killed the others...his own, mine." His ear twitched as if he heard somebody behind him and for a moment, he could've sworn he felt his mother's chin rest atop his shoulder. "Kept his children...away from us. Secrets, we were." He stopped then, fell into a complete motionlessness.
"Praetor died." His voice was sharp. "But he was...not cruel. Didn't deserve." He shrugged, tried hard to push back whatever unusual feeling had begun to fester inside him. "Should I have...told him? Before. Told him we...were blood." He turned to Arturio, "blood is...deep here. Do you see? All...remember. All blood has secrets." He shook his head and sighed. He knew he had spoken too much, too strangely, but Arturio had permitted it. He had been the first to ask - to want to know. "Few forget. What happens now...resonates...for eternity, I think." And what now, he wondered, had begun with Arturio's ascent to a throne that had been held by old blood seasons ago.