Gold eyes steadied on the black mare, watching her quietly. The future. He preferred to think of the future over the present or the past, particularly in this moment, and so Nephilim quieted for a moment. When he spoke again he did not look at either Amaranthe or Tithe, instead seeming trapped in what might have been visions for a future he dreamed of. “I was never meant to be anyone, or anything, or even created into this world. Evil is what brought me here, and it’s been assumed the stain of it is on me.” He breathed a slow breath, his ear flicked, eyes narrowed in thought. “I aim to show them that, while I am not the evil they thought I would be, I am not to be forgotten so easily. These islands, every single one, will know my name.”

He blinked and his pupils caught Amaranthe and held steady. “I need a strong herd. The herd will need a mare to keep everyone safe, I cannot do everything. The mares, it’ll be up to them who decide who among them would lead, but if it were my choice I would give the title to you. Winter, I will ask the mares to make a choice.” He shifted and breathed a small, frustrated sigh of air. “When I first washed onto the Bay it was mid-winter and the icy winds raked at my body, chilling me to the bone. If not for Fly, the mare who had led the herd before mine, I would have died. That cannot be forgotten, but I have not spoken to her in great detail and I don’t know if she supports my leadership.”

He glanced toward the sea, shifting, grimacing at the soreness which bloomed from the wounds he sustained. “Come next spring, I aim to issue my first challenge. I haven’t decided who yet, but I will think over the winter. I need the herd to be strong and united when I do.”

The islands would know the name Nephilim. He raised his head, the heat of pride in his veins.