to live and burn is
the most exquisite form of self destruction

The world was empty and broken, where once it had been whole.

King of ruins, and commander of ashes. Out of desperation he had grasped for power, grasped for change. But in the end both slipped from the sieve of his figurative hands, and Rade was left holding nothing at all. No, less than nothing. Like Icarus, he’d flown too close to the sun— but in the end, it was the ones he loved who’d suffered. Cherish. She’d paid with her life for his defiance, and in the end he had not even been able to avenge her. Fiero and Sciannath, his sons. Both lost to him in his selfishness, though they still lived. And Fearghas above all. All that he’d done had been meant to keep his friend safe from Cullen. To keep him safe from harm.

But in the end, the roan stallion’s betrayal had hurt him worse than even Cullen could.

The Lagoon was empty and silent, but the old bachelor could hear their whispers regardless. Failure. Pretender. And the last words that Fearghas had spoken of his dreams and intentions, ringing more and more true with each day that passed. They are all liars. Rapists. Thieves. The crown that he wore now was woven of untruths. And as for thievery— had he not stolen from the bachelors their glory and served them the bitter dregs of his failures in its stead? Only rape remained absent from his list of recent sins, but even in that he could not claim innocence. There was no shortage of terrible things buried in the dark soil of his past.

And no shortage of crimes that he had failed to prevent, even with the trappings of power he now wore.

A golden flame weaving through shadow, he stumbled across the evidence of such a crime now— recognizing the scent of the woman who had labored, if not her face. It was a scent that had haunted the Lagoon’s furthest reaches for some time, fading and strengthening and fading again. Curious, he watched the woman back away from the damp little bundle of flesh and fur, murmuring something that he couldn’t hear. Her eyes wild and desperate, afraid. Amber eyes probing the darkness for the danger that he couldn’t see, Rade began to drift forward— and then halted abruptly, the pale hairs along his spine rising of their own volition.

Tuari? It was a ghost who spoke, but a shadow that slipped from the trees. A shadow whose legs and rump were laced with white, whose dark eyes brimmed with a familiar concern. Fearghas. Heart leaping in his chest, the scarred roan stumbled forward another step, a brief flare of hope burning in his chest before cold reality doused it. Because ruin or not, he was sworn to protect the Lagoon. And by choice, Fearghas was no longer his brother, but his enemy.

“Fearghas.” Somehow, the syllables of the other stallion’s name sounded more a weary sigh than a dark promise. Circling to step between the interloper and his would-be prizes, Rade abandoned his failed attempts at hostility for amusement instead, gold eyes flicking in the direction of the nameless mare. “No matter how you choose to phrase it, it’s still theft to take from thieves. But perhaps I’m mistaken in assuming that that was your intent.” His gaze drifted back to Fearghas’s lazily, indifferently.

But there was loneliness and longing concealed beneath his next words; a wistful note that no amount of venom could conceal.

“Perhaps you’ve decided to rest your head amongst the rapists and thieves after all?”

stallion . twenty-three . palomino roan . mustang mix . 15.1hh
debonaire x neassa