There was a familiarity to the Ridge’s emptiness now; a certain comfort to the relentless ache rooted in the soil of his heart. He was still lonely, but that loneliness was no different than the isolation he’d always felt. Hades might have been raised alongside a riotous crowd of children, but he wasn’t one of them. There was always a boundary drawn between them. A line of pale flesh that twisted up his cheek and over his eye. A matching-but-invisible scar across the surface of his heart. And an understanding of the truths that some of his peers might never witness, such as the savage and indiscriminate cruelty of this world.

Contemplating this truth now, the young stallion abandoned his vigil atop the rocky slope where Faolain had once stood and retreated into the jungle’s dark sanctuary. It was cooler beneath the endless green canopy, if not more peaceful. Overhead, the Ridge’s colorful birds were particularly raucous— flitting from branch to branch with shrill notes that sent the boy’s ears back into his unruly mane. Fleeing from their noisome games with a contemptuous snort, he chased the distant sighs of the sea along one of the paths the two Guardians’ hooves had worn over countless seasons. And as the whistling songs faded into silence behind him, so too did the Prince’s memories of the star-marked filly Rivaini had borne.

Less easy to escape was the shade of his silver-haired mother, which found him even in the most unexpected places. Beside a small stream they’d once leapt side-by-side, her warm laughter suffusing the air when he slid back down the muddy bank. Behind the broad trunk of a kapok, where she’d taken him to watch the ants trickle up and down its bony roots in single-file lines. And within a small glade where orchids grew, their colors as vibrant against the greens and browns as they’d been against the inky canvas of Faolain’s skin, or the reddish earth of her own. Pausing to contemplate a fragrant yellow flower, Hades considered the time he’d witnessed the Guardians exchange such a gift, his orange eyes dark and inscrutable. It had always seemed pointless to him, especially since parting the blooms from their vines only served to condemn them to a premature death.

But as he reflected on that moment now, with the memory of Finch’s sorrow still fresh in his heart, it occurred to Hades that as ugly as the world could be— As ugly as it could be, perhaps his mother and her mate had only sought to share a small piece of what beauty they found with one another. Pinching the stem between his teeth, the chocolate stallion pulled it free in a swift jerk of his head, and continued on his way with his prize cradled delicately within the curve of his lips.

Emerging on the beach almost an hour later, his bright orchid was already beginning to wilt. But Hades was oblivious to its waning life. Bright tail flagged and dark chin tucked against the muscular arch of his neck, he headed south along the sands with high-stepping strides that were more comical than graceful. There— where the shore ended and the sea began— Finch watched and waited for him. And the boy who loved her slowed, his confident gait becoming a submissive creep as he extended his muzzle to offer the silver bay his gift.