DESCRIPTION
Have you ever had to stop and just . . . . stare at an . . . . odd creature? Perhaps that creature was much like our Neveah here. Neveah is a sweetheart, and he looks the part. He's tiny, and delicate, barely stretching to 11.3 hands (and usually having to stretch a little to get there) his height is largely due to the lack of proper nutrition as a colt. He's extremely delicate, with shorter legs, and a compact chest and slightly dished head, but as you look closer, you begin to notice some more things that catch your eye. Glancing up at this pegasus, his wings tucked to his side, you'll see that leonine tail swaying, long, luscious locks of dark ebony swirling through the air with each gentle sway of his tail. It's clearly capable of a lot of mobility, as it occasionally lifts things closer to him, coiling around things to be picked up. At that same note, you'd be drawn to the fact his mane doesn't stop like normal. While fairly lengthy, it does shorten up until it's only a foot long as it continues all the way down his back, and extended a foot or so down his leonine tail. Your gaze returns to his head, to those impossibly long ears that seem to never stop moving, always catching noises. Then, you notice a wing stretch, and your eyes widen in horror this time. You can't help it, as you look at the jagged, cut feathers, every primary feather trimmed so close you can only imagine the time it would take him to grow them back out. He catches you looking, and those wings snap shut again, his gaze turning away, unwilling to discuss it.

ACCESSORIES
There are a few noted 'specials' this stallion seems to carry with him. Trinkets really, that settle beneath his cloak. I suppose, one best start with that, it is likely the first thing you notice when you may see him after all -- that long cloak he wears when out in public. It's the blackest hue you'd likely find, so black, it seems to suck the light out of the very air around it. But, it's definitely suited for hiding in plain sight (or rather the shadows in plain sight that is). Long enough to cover the entirety of his body, even with his wings tucked under it - so just his tail is visible, with an overly large hood that can help shadow his face (particularly useful when you have lavender markings that glow slightly). Beneath this cloak, when the day is right, and this muse really feels like making an entrance, you'll notice a few odd trinkets. Small bells around his ankles, that chime with his steps - noticeably delicate sounds. If asked, he'll simply respond that they remind him of his mother. The other item he is often seen with is wrapped around his tail, a piece of cloth that is circled around it three times, before tied off in a knot. It's a soft, almost pastel cream color, and while he doesn't state where it comes from, he has the same soft look in his eyes when he acknowledges it, as he does when he tells you the bells remind him of his mother.

EXTRAS
The most unique aspect of this boy comes in what isn't always there. Much of the lavender this boy holds is fairly dim at the moment - his eyes yellow; his stars and swirls subtle, only the faintest of glow. But, when his magic unlocks, when it activates, when he accepts his stance in society, when he acknowledges who he is, his colors will return with a vengeance, and that yellow eye color will once more return to the lavender he has known all his life - the lavender hue that comes with his identity as a muse.

Gentle & Kind
There are individuals in this world who call themselves kind, or gentle, or delicate. Those who believe that they are sincere in these characteristics. But . . . Nevaeh has had to live a life where he wasn't allowed to show these emotions easily. It didn't stop it from being true though, even if it has led to Nev having a unique way of showing it. Nevaeh is kind to the point of delivering the soft blow to save the individual from a hard blow. When forced into service by those who used his abilities to reap fear and power; this was no truer than in moments of sparing some a painful death by using his muse abilities to encourage them into a state of calm and peace so deep, that their heart stopped.

But more than that; and especially today; Nevaeh is an individual that quietly wants to see the rest of the world succeed. He wants to believe in life after pain, of happiness overcoming anything. In the new breath of dawn, of spring beauty, of peace, and love and tranquility. He chooses to live his life now by doing his best for the others around him. To encourage their passions, where once he was forced to encourage their fears.

But it's not just in this respect his kind nature, nor his gentle behavior comes out. Nevaeh is a soft-spoken individual, who is naturally a gentle and peaceful soul. Had he not grown up in the disastrous location, these aspects likely would have grown into a fruitful nature; but instead it has led him into being gentle to the point of isolation, and introversion. He is so worried about upsetting others, he'd rather hide from the world to prevent it from ever happening.

Reliable & Intuitive
Nevaeh is a reliable sort. He doesn't give up on others, nor does he ever let that loyalty he (rarely) develops go to waste. When he makes a promise, it is guaranteed to be kept, because he refuses to be the sort who could ever be accused of uncaring. When you need him, he will be there - even if it's nothing short of painful for him to force himself into the company of strangers. To this respect, you can also guarantee that you'll always have his support when you earn his loyalty. No matter the time of day, he will step up to your side. He'll be a safe place to rest for the night, a shoulder to cry on; and a quiet, soft-spoken voice of reason if you need it.

To aid in his ability to reliably be there for others, this boy is oddly intuitive (perhaps even prophetic in his intuitive nature - he blames his father). He seems to just naturally know when to show up, when to open his door, when to led another to a safe place. This intuitiveness is enhanced by his own nature of watching and cataloging everything around him. He's a naturally curious soul, as well; and so when he starts watching the world around him, those curious eyes take in everything - helping him to further understand the scenarios he engages in at an even faster rate. All in the name of being able to help others to the best of his ability.

Faithful & Discreet
Are you seeing a pattern yet to his need to help others? He's been responsible for such much destruction; that now he's determined to do what he can to fix his karma (even if it's not his soul his actions should be weighed against -- after all, fear and pain is a motivating tool). To this effect; one will find Nevaeh is oddly faithful to those who he has found himself trusting and caring for. It's definitely not an easy role to take; certainly - but you'll find you never have to worry about him straying from his determination to be there for you.

This is true for more than just those he considers cared for. If you have any sort of connection to this boy, you'll notice the same faithfulness in his behaviors. His loyalty to his court. His loyalty to other entertainers. His loyalty to those who he has aligned himself with. It's never faltering - because he knows how far one can fall without someone to lean on.

However, while he is faithful, he is also discreet in his actions. Many who do not know him personally may find his faithfulness as an unknown guardian angel. It's the random letter on the bed, wishing an entertainer success and confidence before their big performance later that night. It's in the gift basket of food left on the widow's doorstep when she isn't sure how she's going to afford food for her young for the next week. It's in the way he supports from a distance, a shadow in the night, avoiding the spotlight even as he sets out to help others.

Dependent & Childish
Nevaeh tends to latch onto those he has developed a relationship, tightly. Nothing is more evident of this than his relationship with his best friend, Absynthe. He's the sort who tends to cling almost too tightly, allowing his friends to even manipulate his mood, his behavior, and his decisions. While he is able to make his own decisions, he is notably more likely to lean in the direction that someone he trusts is leaning towards, depending on them to keep him on the right and narrow - particularly after the very dangerous, and less than ideal upbringing he has had.

When one calls Nev childish, it's not in the usual manner. He's not a jokester, someone refusing to grow up. Instead, Nevaeh is childish in the effect that he's simply not as socially mature as one would expect a stallion of his point to be. He's a bumbling, awkward mess, like a child who is trying on his father's clothes. He is far more likely to literally run and hide in the shadows rather than face his fears. It's in his actions and reactions that you'll find this stallion more childish than mature.

Impulsive & Melancholic
Nevaeh is a very impulsive being. He tends to react without thinking. He jumps into problems. He buys the building without considering the obstacles. He's the sort who takes life by the ears, and completely forgets to account for the horns. He jumps into the stream, without realizing the water is neck-deep. He does make his decisions with enough forethought, to typically defend them when he does have one of his impulsive moments - but he's certainly not the type to just be left alone.

A lot of this decision to just live comes from a melancholy point of view. He's naturally a bit of a debby-downer, and it's not uncommon to find him in moments where that depression - and at times self-hatred weighing him down so much, he refuses to rise about that day. He tends to live in a very pensive and morose state of being, and on days where it weighs him the most, it can be rather lethargic for him. On other days, that impulsiveness comes out as a sense of 'why not' due to a lack of care that melancholy presents for him.

Fearful & Anxious
Nevaeh is an easily startled being. He's very aware of his strengths, and more importantly his weaknesses. He knows how difficult his life may be - he knows how easy it is to overpower him. He knows how little of a chance he may have to properly escape from an aggressor, and so Nevaeh is very much a being who can easily experience fear. As a result, Nevaeh tends to lead with his emotions that drive him right back into the shadows. Out of sight, out of mind, far, far away from where others are, where he can exist in his lonesome, safe from those who may search him out to use him, abuse him, or otherwise hurt him.

This state of fear also leads to intense anxiety within this young muse. He knows where he came from, he knows how others may be like if they were to know about his abilities, about how easy it could be to control him (especially in his current condition of clipped wings that make escape disastrously difficult. He lives with a lot of anxiety of the past repeating, and his freedom coming to an end, once more roped into being a utensil used by those who only wish to hurt and cause pain.

The Shy Kid
Perhaps the most obvious side to this young gentleman is that quiet shy kid, the one you may expect to sit in the back of the class with his head down? Well, that's definitely Nevaeh in a nutshell there. He keeps to himself, often doing his best to avoid actually being around others. Not so much for any sort of lack of social skills, but in large part due to a lack of trust in others to be allowed to be around him. Nevaeh has grown up in severly abusive environment, to the point where he assumes the worst. Someone moves to quick around him, he noticeably flinches. When he talks, it's quiet and soft spoken (though this also is likely due to the severe scaring inside his mouth that make speech painful). He does his best to keep himself very out of the spot life, and thus safe from rest of those out there who may want to use and abuse him.

One also cannot help but notice, this boy is very easy to over whelm, particularly when others are nice to him. He's the sort to become flushed and embarrassed when he's complimented (this is tripled when a handsome stallion is the one complimenting him). He doesn't know how to handle kindness directed his way, nor anyone going out of their way to help him, assist him, protect him. Nevaeh has had to slay his own dragons - sometimes those actions weren't too easy to accomplish either. So anyone else offering him a hand up is definitely the sort to be met with surprise, and suspicion before he disappears back into his shadows.

The Business Man
Nevaeh however does have an eye on those around him. He tends to have a good sense in what is needed to make others comfortable, and as an entertainer himself, he values other's ability to express themselves - which leads to his goal of establishing a venue where entertainers can properly entertain, while also catering to those who come to support them. A glorious lounge, for sure. He's the sort who listens to everyone, taking ideas from those who have his ear, as well as willingly taking consideration of requests both from clientele and those he allows in to preform. He believes in working together to accomplish things to their best - even if he does his work from the shadows.

The Muse
No example of Nevaeh is the true Nevaeh, until you see him comfortably in his own skin, his eyes glowing a soft lavender, and his magic whirling around him in a vibrant display of confidence and kindness. An eagerness to make others see their worth, and filling them with the confidence and trust in themselves to preform. Beyond all of this, however, is a boy who loves to preform himself. And while his voice has been stolen, his ability to sing causing far too much pain to accomplish anything - there is a sort of wonder, of delight, of comfort that conspires when you see this boy pick up an instrument, any instrument - and just play. In those moments, with lavender magic swirling around him, enticing, musing others to feel the way his music is played, you can certainly see where the muse buried deep inside him is certainly his purest form of self, even if that magic has been tainted by the cruel images of his past.

In the beginning
Nevaeh was a precious treasure, as his mother Terpsichore saw him. The muse of dance was in love with the little gift Apollo had offered her. The little foal was treasured among the muses, with his aunt Euterpe thrilled by his obvious skills with music, inherited from his father. He was a treasure, a small, delicate foal, who could sing so sweetly, it could bring tears to their eyes. A tiny foal who loved to dance with his mother when music began to play. A little tiny foal, with tufts of hair, and flightless, downy feathers who was enjoying life with his mother, and aunts on Mount Parnassus. Who was adored by many of the gods and goddesses on Olympus. He captured hearts, just as a muse should, his mother would always say.

But tragedy strikes
The muses had been called to Olympus, all nine of them, and it was a fretful Terpsichore who left the colt sleeping, tucking his tufts of hair behind his long ears, as his leonine tail whisked around in a dream. His soft glow offered its own nightlight as she promised she'd be back soon before her sweet Nevaeh would awaken. But they wouldn't make it back in time. The summons had been true enough, but another had been watching, in awe over the muses, over what they could do with the special abilities, and what kind of profit, of power they could take with it.

When the adults left, the others crept forward, and in a flurry of fearful activity, the young colt, so small, so tiny, was scooped up in a bag by these giant, burly stallions, and they chortled to themselves as they ran from the mountains.

Nevaeh slept softly, unaware of the three that watched his mother and aunts head off to Olympus, to visit the Patreon that was going to ask for assistance on a quest. The three stallions approached the tiny, odd-winged pony, one burly bloke confused. "What's so special about this kid? About those mares? Sure, they're pretty to look at, and could catch a good price if we auction them off, but what's the point in going after the kid? He worth something?"

The one in charge couldn't help but snicker, as he turned to the dumber fellow, "You heard of the muses?" At the first's nod, the leader's grin deepened, "This brat is their kid, those mares are the muses. This kid is worth more than his weight in gold, and we'll get to control his ability to use that magic too. Oh, just wait until you see what we can do with this kid! I've only heard stories of what the muses are capable of, but if even half of them are . . . This kid is gonna change our lives. So, stop yapping. Grab him."

Nevaeh woke with a start as a bag was thrown over him before he felt himself being tossed around as he was lifted up. He started to struggle, crying, and at that moment, his inexperienced magic came out in full force, a sorrowful melody that brought the stallion carrying him to his knees, tears falling down his cheeks, frozen in sadness. The leader had earplugs for this very reason that he'd jabbed in his ears as soon as they'd made the grab. And so as the other two fell victim to the melody, the lead grinned, "I thought so. You'll do just fine." Before binding the foal's muzzle shut, and breaking the music. The other two shook their heads while Nevaeh stared up at the giant horses in fear. His mother was so large, but these large, hairy men were even more so!

He was tossed about as that bag was drawn up again, his muzzle tied tight as the bag swung with the rhythm of a fast gait that was taking him far, far from home. His tiny wings fluttered hopelessly, his tiny legs trying to kick out at anything he could, only for them to shake the bag again, and Nevaeh felt his head collide with something hard, and he fell back asleep.

The vile introductions
Neveah was shaken awake, his muzzle still bound shut and five large stallions now surrounding him. They were cold, cruel, sneering at his fear as they explained to him that he was going to be working for them now. He was going to do what they said. The foal was so afraid as they repeated if he understood until he nodded in fear. It was then he was shoved into a small, dark room, and told they would fetch him when they needed him.

It was dark, it was cold, it was unfamiliar. It wasn't home. His father didn't stop by with the sun, to give him a wink, and a promise to see him when his duties were done. His mother didn't come to cuddle him. His aunts didn't sing to him, read him poetry, tell him of the most recent inventor/painter/musician they spoke with. He was so alone. And it scared him. His muzzle tied shut, he couldn't even cry, couldn't beg for light. Anything.

The door suddenly opened, at that large stallion from before, the one that was in charge when he was taken showed up. He placed a platter of food on the ground, and Neveah felt his stomach rumble as he stared at the bread, cheese, and fruit. It wasn't as fancy as what he got at home, but it was familiar. He tried to reach towards it, but the stallion pulled it out of the way, "Nope, we gotta have a talk first, kid. See, there's some things we gotta make sure you understand." His smile was scary, was dark, was so self-serving.

Nevaeh curled up in his corner, and just waited to see the demands the stallion would make, "You know what you are, why your crying song made my men weak, frozen in sadness?" The little colt slowly nodded, his muzzle still bound shut, "Thought so, so you know what you can do." He didn't wait for Nevaeh to nod as he instead paced, keeping himself between the colt and the food, "Well, kid, you're gonna be working for us now. The rules are simple, but I want to make sure you understand.

"You do what we say. If we tell you to sing, you sing the way we tell you too. If we tell you to keep your mouth shut. You do just that. If you obey us, we'll treat you nicely. If you try to defy us if you try to run away, if you try anything at all that we won't approve of, we'll hurt you so bad, you won't be able to stand for weeks. Do you understand?"

Nevaeh was awkwardly hyperventilating around his tied-up muzzle, but he nodded fearfully, "Good. In that case, I'll get rid of that tie. But if you try to hypnotize any of my men with that ability of yours, I'll remove your tongue. Got it?" Nevaeh had tears leaking from his eyes, even as he nodded. The binding came off, but Nevaeh was too afraid to even open his mouth, keeping it firmly shut. The man smirked. "Good kid." Before kicking the plate of food towards him, the fruit, bread, and cheese slid across the floor as the stallion laughed and closed the door behind him.

Nevaeh cried quietly as he sought after the food in complete darkness, stuffing grapes and bread into his mouth. He was left alone for the rest of the night, and for most of the next couple of days, except for meals. Those first few days were nothing but solitude and darkness.

They called it training
The change came before the young colt could really understand. All of a sudden he was being allowed out for multiple hours a day, the sunlight hurting his lavender eyes from where he had gotten used to the darkness. The men were still cold, cruel, but they were now determined to instruct him. These lessons, as they called them, were about everything they would expect of him, and to his horror, none of it was about inspiring beauty. No, he was expected to inspire pain, war, death, destruction, fear. His Aunt Melpomene wouldn't have even inspired things like this, and she was the muse of tragedy.

The worst didn't come until he was taken out into the field for 'on the job' training. When he got back to his little darkroom, he was ill before crying himself to sleep that night.

That large stallion was back again, but this time he, and five others were walking outside with him. Nevaeh looked around nervously, before his gaze turned up to the sun, wondering if his daddy was looking for him, if he would see him here, this far from Olympus, this far from Parnassus. "Alright kid. Time for you to see what you're gonna be doing. See this town? They don't want to help us. They thought they could stand against us. They need to be shown this isn't how we work. So you and I, we'll stand right here, and remember, you better do what we say. Nod if you understand." Nevaeh quickly obeyed, his tiny form shaking against the large draft.

He kept his attention firmly off of the band tied around his neck that was tied to the larger stallion by his side, meant to keep him from trying to escape. They had laughed and threatened to give him a proper collar since he looked so lovely with it around his little neck. He hoped they were lying. "Alright kid, you know what to do. Sing for us, little muse. Make these villagers . . . afraid." Nevaeh felt sick to his stomach, but he did as he was asked, singing to the village, the song haunting, terrified, his own feelings making the music all the stronger, all the more powerful.

He watched in horror, his song never faltering, but instead growing more afraid, as he watched the villagers freeze in place, trapped by his music that inspired such paralyzing fear. His song only stopped when the first swing happened, and he realized then why they'd made him sing like this. Frozen in fear, the massacre was quick, was easy, with no one to fight back. Before Nevaeh could scream in fear, in pain, his muzzle was bound shut once more.

He was taken back to their main building, tossed back into his dark cell, and praised for such "good work." After the binding was removed once more, Nevaeh collapses, dry heaving until he was sick, and eventually curled up in his 'sleeping corner', crying himself to sleep. The next day they took him out to do the same.

Days turned to months
Nevaeh always woke with a hope his father would appear in the rush of warmth he usually associated with the sun god. Or his mother and aunts would come to save him. But every morning he woke up trapped in his little dark room with a silver collar around his neck, and a loose binding around his muzzle, a special halter, enchanted enough to keep him from using his magic but allowed him to eat or drink. Not that he was ever given much. They'd made it clear his meager portions would remain, often laughing when they heard his stomach growl, and made efforts to eat in front of him, while he stared wistfully on.

He now knew the name of the leader stallion, the one who usually fed him, and he was tethered to when they were out and about. Marcus he'd introduced himself when he'd demanded Nevaeh offer his own name. He remembered their chuckling, the taunting noises when he'd meekly answered him.

"My name is Marcus, kid. But you'll call me Master, understand? Im the one in charge of our little . . . . band. We're the Hell's Canyon Gang. Rule over this side of Greece." The little colt shivered, flinching at the idea he really was trapped by these horrible people. There was a click and he jolted, as a silver collar was clasped around his neck, sealing up with magic that had him quaking, "Now, be a good little muse, what's your name kid." Nevaeh had been terrified, unable to answer as he tried to bite at the new collar around his neck.

Teeth were buried into his nape, his mane, and his head was forcibly pulled up with a jolt that had a scared whinney leave his muzzle, his wide lavender eyes staring up at Marcus who was gritting his teeth tightly around him. Nevaeh was practically frantic as he squealed out an answer, "Nevaeh! My name is Nevaeh!" Marcus dropped his hold, and Nevaeh hit the ground hard as the stallion above him started to laugh, "Nevaeh huh? Heaven backwards? What a cute little name. Well, Nevaeh, you now belong to us. So better keep getting used to doing what we ask of you, huh? Oh, and we have another little present to go with your fancy new collar."

Nevaeh was too afraid to fight as he slid the hard, solid feel of the halter over his face, a bit placed between his lips, keeping his tongue flat. "Sing, boy." Nevaeh shook, but when Marcus went to strike him again, the boy was quick to obey, only to get chocked up by the bit that suddenly grew sharp prongs, by the metal that closed around his muzzle, trapping it shut. He frantically shook his head, eyes wide and fearful, tasting the blood as his mouth was shredded. It was agonizing, even as Marcus laughed, "Now you know what will happen if you ever try to turn that magic on us. When it's time to use your abilities on others, we'll alter that little device to let you do so. I alone control it. But you try to inspire us to let you go . . . you'll be drinking your own blood more than water. You understand, brat?" Nevaeh was afraid, and it wasn't until the question was repeated, and Nevaeh finally nodded that the metal halter loosened, the barbs disappeared.

Nevaeh gagged, coughing up blood around the bit in his mouth, shaking fearfully, "I . . I won't. I won't use it on you, M-master." The tiny foal whispered, as Marcus grinned and forced the foal to lay down at his feet while he and the men began to eat dinner, occasionally tossing scraps to the hungry foal."

As he grew, his wings did too. Small feathers shedding, as he molted, his proper feathers starting to come in. He kept those little feathers, using them to help make his sleeping corner softer, warmer. The shredded out foal fluff of fur had been added as well if only to make it warmer, less cold . . . less stone. It was in those quiet nights alone that the little foal was testing out those wings, if only to try to get to the window up high, to be able to see out it, as if it could promise him a way out.

When they spotted him trying to get off the ground, little wings flapping, he wasn't expecting the violence.

The door opened with Marcus's dark grin, "My little piece of heaven, time to sta-" He froze, his eyes narrowing and the little foal's wings froze from where they were stretched out. Marcus gritted his teeth, and without another word, he stormed forward, biting down at the nape of the little foal's neck, before pulling him out of the room, ignoring the alarmed squeaking.

Nevaeh's limbs scrambled against the stone, tail whisking around everywhere as his wings flapped pitifully, trying to right himself. He didn't get a chance before he was thrown to the ground. "Pin him down. Now. Wings stretched out. Kid thinks he's gonna fly. But we can't have that, he might get ideas." Nevaeh was terrified as he was pinned down tightly. his tail twitching in anxiety as he felt his wings be stretched, and then overstretched, each feather seeming to split, so each one was seen individually.

The first cut tore a scream through his muzzle as it was cut to close, knicking his skin, "Careful, you idiot. Give it to me! I'll do it." Marcus snarled, taking the sharp scissors, and then cutting through each primary feather, cutting them down enough to make them useless. One wing, and then the other. He motioned for the men to let the colt up, shoving him with a hoof to force Nevaeh to stand faster. "There, we can't have you hurting yourself after all. There's no need for you to fly . . . You're here, home. So you have nowhere to go anyway." Marcus's grin was superior and for the first time, Nevaeh finally began to think this would be his future. There was no escaping it. No escaping them.

To be an instrument
The years to come were not easy, but slowly Nevaeh grew. It was agonizing at times, as those men he was now forced to serve worked in every advantage in their favor to control him. He was purposely kept docile, weak, caged, living in fear. He was starved so much, the malnutrition stunted his height. His wings were clipped to keep him from flying. Scars layered the delicate tissues inside his mouth from where the razors of the bit would shred his tongue and cheeks for daring to argue, daring to speak back. But, he was a prize too. They knew that he knew that, and so while they kept him under lock and key, they never hesitated to ensure that he knew what to expect. He was their little muse after all, and clearly, after all this time, there was no one out there looking for him. This was his home, his life. His.

"We just wanna offer you some protection. You never know how scary it can be out there." A subtle nudge against his shoulder. It was the silent command to the young foal who kept his eyes averted. He wasn't quite quick enough, and the nudge was harder this time, and he briefly felt the halter around his face start to tighten, and so he jumped to command. The threat was all it took and obediently, Nevaeh kept his eyes on the ground as he began to whisper, "They could come for you. Steal your loved ones away, burn down your house, take your livelihood, your life."

The words were spoken so softly, woven into their minds until money exchanged hands frantically and the door slammed shut. This is what his life had become. Inspiring fear in the hearts of those that didn't deserve it. Inspiring darkness. This wasn't inspiration, this was a bastardized version. "Good job kid. Two more houses and this street is done. C'mon, don't dwaddle, or you won't get dinner tonight." Nevaeh said nothing, as the six-month-old foal dutifully followed behind, clipped wings held tight to his side, his head hung low in defeat. His parents had whispered to him when he was younger, of how he'd inspire the musicians, and bring crowds to their feet with his own quick mastery of instruments.

He doubted his parents meant instruments of evil.

Life continued in this way, as Nevaeh's abilities were used, harnessed, controlled for others to get what they wanted. It wasn't easy, it never would be. He was a young, innocent being, trapped into a life of slavery and pain, for a gift that he had once found special. It was now an instrument of evil, wielded by those who controlled him. A display of power, an angry argument, the continued desire to be on top. The men who controlled his life wanted to be the victors, to rule over others, to win skirmishes, to decimate the war against them. There was death, there was always death.

And it was deadening the young Nevaeh on the inside to be nothing more than a means to take them out. The enemies, the less fortunate, the ones in the way. So young, so fragile, Nevaeh would be put forward, would be commanded. His heart didn't break anymore, but that's because he'd shut that down so long ago. It was easier that way. To try not to feel.

"Nevaeh, do it now. Do not make me tell you again." The yearling colt looked at the line of captured 'enemies'. These men had done nothing wrong, except to stand up to those they considered a threat, those that wished to take over their lives, and demanded such horrible things. He could understand the want to fight back. Rare moments, late at night, he would feel that desire creep up in his chest, wistfully he'd wonder what it would be like to escape, to follow the moon, until Aunt Artemis found him, and could help him get home.

But he also knew better. There was no way out. There was no escape. And seeing the heavy expressions on these individuals' faces? They knew it too. Nevaeh's gaze dropped, "I'm sorry," He whispered before he lifted the instrument and he began to play. He kept his eyes closed, he didn't want to see their reactions to the melody, the high-strung, wild melody that was strengthened by his own fear, his own regret. The bow slid across the strings of the violin, and that haunting melody began to strike up the fear. As his tempo increased, so would their fear.

He kept playing, knowing what would come next, his long ears pinned back as he tried not to listen, as he tried to ignore, The so-called-enemies were shaking in fear, increased blood pressuring rising until the veins in lungs began to explode. Choking up the blood that was now pouring into the lungs, he kept playing, his heart clenching, his eyes squeezed shut. Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. If he could close them tight enough, then maybe, just maybe he could pretend it wasn't happening. Slowly, one by one; hearts gave out, to the pressure, to the struggle. One, after another, the bodies hit the floor, and finally, the violin fell quiet, and Nevaeh looked away. He was too numb to cry now.

It was never-ending, there was always more to do. There was always something to inspire. After a while, Nevaeh shut himself down. A mindless drone doing what was asked of him. He forced others to give in to demands. He scared individuals to death. He enticed rage in others, sending them on a warpath. He did everything he was told with a dead look to his eyes. He no longer spoke, except to sing on command, a shell . . .

Until the day he was pushed too far.

They were so small, two little foals curled up together, shaking in fear. "Their parents won't pay the ransom, so get rid of the kids." Nevaeh was frozen, staring down into the eyes that were wide, pleading, begging. "Nevaeh. Dispose of them. Now." The command was said sharper, and he felt a tug on his collar. His gaze slowly turned to Marcus who sneered, "Don't disobey me." The stallion stated angrily, and the two-year-old pegasus looked back at the children, struggling, "Why." He whispered. "They're children."

The strike came out of the blue, and the stallion collided with the floor, wincing as he looked up at Marcus. He stared down at the smaller male with a sneer, "Because I said so. You know what we expect. You do what we say. Or else." Nevaeh slowly climbed to his feet, looking at the children, and closing his eyes. This time, when he sang, the song was soft, gentle, quiet. The children slowly relaxed, soon falling asleep. He kept the song gentle, peaceful, as they relaxed to the point their heart stopped beating, their lungs stopped breathing.

Marcus shoved Nevaeh into his small, dark room, "No dinner tonight. We'll see if you eat tomorrow. Don't you dare question me again." Nevaeh didn't respond, even as he headed to his corner and curled up. For the first time in years, he cried himself to sleep.

It was much of the same moving forward, being told what to do, but he tried more often to grant mercies to those who were caught in the crosshairs. Innocents he was forced to 'get rid of.' Each time he let them fall asleep, to never wake up, feeling peace in those last moments, he was locked away for days without food. Until finally, in the middle of the night, he couldn't take it anymore.

Grasping at a prayer
How much longer would they keep him, how much longer could he survive. These thoughts would fuel his dreams, fill them with worry, with concern. When would he outstay his welcome? What would happen if they decided he was no longer special, no longer needed, no longer their muse to control. Escape wasn't an option. Freedom wasn't an option, what was there for him to do? Except do his best, to do what they wanted of him, so he could at least stay alive. That night, like the others, before, with the small foals still firmly in his mind, the others he'd had to try to mercy kill . . . . Nevaeh would weep. And as he wept, a new idea would come forth. An idea that would promise him freedom.

Tears leaked from his lavender eyes as he looked up through his tiny window, high above, and at the moon. He thought back to home when his momma would lay with him, he was so tiny then, and tell him stories of his father, of his aunts and uncles, his grandparents and cousins. She would promise him such bright futures. "But don't you worry, nothing should ever scare you. After all, as long as you pray, the gods will here you."

The memory hit him with such a force, that he almost jolted face-first into the wall. Instead, the young stallion, now three; had to try. He had to try! He hit his knees with more force than he could imagine, and he began to pray, "Grandfather, Zeus, God of Thunder, King of Olympus. Please, please if you can hear me, if you can see me, if you can find me, please, please save me." There was a sudden crash of lightning and it jolted Nevaeh back as he blinked his eyes about the increase of light.

When it returned to normal, an item was at his hooves. A familiar one. Golden, with soft laurel leaves up the handles on either side. He knew if he plucked a string, it would be perfectly tuned, as perfect as it was in appearance. Because it was a prized possession, his father's prized possession. But why? He . . . He couldn't do anything with this. Then a shift, a click, and the collar around his neck fell away, hitting the ground. He was frozen, alarmed, scared, hopeful, worried, excited, so anxious. The halter loosened, until it to fell, the colt spitting that cursed bit from his muzzle.

This time, as he felt like weeping, it was happy tears. And then the door opened, and slowly the young stallion picked up the lyre and began to play as he walked up the stairs. The melody was soft, a lullaby, delicate, powerful, the type of music he would remember his father playing so his mother could sway. But this wasn't to dance to, this was to sleep to. He moved slowly, keeping as much control as he could, he ignored completely anyone who tried to speak to him, tried to approach him, and instead, put more power behind his magic.

"Hush now, and sleep. Oh, how tired you've become. Sleep until the days 'come long. Sleep and remember, this final whisper, and know that you'll sleep until I'm gone." The soft words spoken with magic deeply embedded. He watched as man, after man slept, and finally, he slipped out the door.

And he ran.

Grandfather, why?
There was an intense fear that came with his need to run, to find safety, any safety. It was like anywhere he would go, he'd see them following, those men who controlled his life. And he was weak, so weak. He was struggling, he was so scared, weak from lack of food for so long, from the lingering pain of his muzzle, the scars and fresh cuts deep in his muzzle, that made speaking hurt so much now. When he did stop, he was stared at with curious hesitation, especially when he spoke so brokenly, so uncertainly. Weak from exhaustion, weak of hunger, he felt so weak.

Somehow though, he was making progress, trying to make his way to Olympus, to Parnassus; to the safety of his mother, to the gods that were now sure to help him now that he had been found. A shout from behind him scared him to death, as Marcus was already closing in.

"Listen Kid, come back quietly, and we'll forget this happened, yeah? We've been good to you, haven't we? We've been kind, we've been nice. You're alive, you're fed, you have a job, and you do good work for us. We aren't going to just let you leave. That's not an option. But see, here's the thing, if you don't come back now, then you lose this chance. If I have to keep chasing after you, it is gonna hurt. It is gonna hurt you a lot, and I'm not gonna be nice about it.

Because, don't think I'm not gonna getcha, I'm not going to catch you. I'm already this close, right? So stop being a fucking idiot, Nevaeh, and come back over here to me, and we'll get your collar back on, your halter in place, and maybe you'll get dinner again in two weeks instead of two months." Nevaeh was shaking, staring at the man twenty yards away, at the way his voice carried with such power. But it wasn't a shaking of fear. No, he might be alarmed at seeing him again, but he wasn't afraid.

He was angry. He plucked the lyre, and as the melody flowed, Marcus's eyes went wide, rushing forward to stop him, to get to him. Nevaeh didn't stop, didn't hesitate. His gaze grew hard, cold, angry, as his magic flared, pooling hate behind the music that would cut Marcus to the core with fear. All the fear. Every once of it. And as he played, Nevaeh ignored the pain, so he could sing, the melody chilling, haunting, ghostly.

Marcus was struggling to move forward, breathing hard, shaking, both from anger and fear, until he fell to his knees. Nevaeh didn't stop, he pressed on, walking closer, focusing all of his attention on Marcus. He continued to sing, he continued to play as his tormentor curled into a ball, as blood pooled from his nose, his mouth, his eyes, blood vessels bursting all over from the increased blood pressure. He kept it under control, prolonged, carried out. He didn't want this quick. He didn't want this peaceful. He wanted Marcus to hurt. Just like he did.

It took Marcus three hours to finally die in a pool of his own blood, and Nevaeh finally fell to his knees next to the body, the lyre dropping beside him as he stared at his own work. He was numb again, the anger gone, and in its place was exhaustion. He knows the hunt won't be over, not yet, but this is the progress made, progress to safety, and yet, he mourns having to use his magic like this, willingly killing in a moment of anger, hatred, pain. His gaze turns to the sky, wondering why no one showed up yet to soothe his worries. Where was his mother? His father? Why was he making his way like a mortal? Zeus helped once, he knew where he . . .

There was a moment, and at that moment, Nevaeh realized how quickly Zeus reached him, how easily he undid everything, And in a moment of fear, he prayed for the truth, prayed his thoughts were wrong, that Zeus hadn't left him there. That he hadn't been abandoned to that hell hole, that the Gods, his father, and grandfather; hadn't turned their backs on him.

"Why are you surprised." The voice was booming, and Nevaeh spun around to stare at the large stallion, thirty-five hands high, wings blocking out the sun, lightning ruffling through his feathers. His expression was cold as he stared down at his small grandson, sneering, "You are weak, and unimportant. A muse too powerful. But unimportant. Why would I waste time with you. I just got tired of your pathetic existence, then you . . . had to kill this." Zeus kicks at the body, crumbling it to dust, and Nevaeh jumps back, "I'd thought they'd have killed you for daring to escape. Should have given you the lyre and kept the collar and halter on you. Watched those spikes go through your brain. Oh well, give me the Lyre boy."

Nevaeh was so frozen in shock, he didn't fight as the Lyre was lifted off of him. Only when it left his grasp did the stallion come alive again, his gaze angry, that hate coming back. He was right, he had been left there. And his release was an orchestra for death?! His grandfather was trying to kill him. He reacts as those wings come down to cuff his body, to send him flying. Instead, he grasps down hard on those feathers with his teeth, his tail coiling around more, and as Zeus lifts his wings in surprise, Nevaeh pulls with all of his might.

The feathers are plucked, large feathers, many of them, falling from those wings, and Zeus bellows in rage, in pain. Nevaeh gives it no thought, he grabs the dropped lyre, and he runs, zipping this way, and that way as the lightning comes shooting down. Left, right, right, left, right. Diving and dodging for all he's worth as he tries to run from his grandfather. He realizes later that there's a massive black and red stallion wreathed in flames keeping his grandfather from the chase. He doesn't ask who he is, he instead turns, and he keeps running, the hate in his heart growing for Zeus with each step, hugging his father's lyre closer still to his chest.

A twisted pantheon
His head is swirling, and with each step, he took away from Zeus, each downy feather he spat to the ground, he felt anger and hate blare up in his chest. It's a foreign feeling after the fear and numbness before, but it is also refreshing, to feel something so strongly, so heavily. He slows as he starts to feel safe, but that anger remains.

It wells in his chest, like a monster lying in wait for the foal to close its eyes. He snarls to the ground below him, ears pinning. The gods were nothing. Zeus had openly admitted to trying to orchestrate his MURDER, his own grandfather. And where was his father in all of this? Preening in front of a mare. Strutting like a pigeon who was raised by peacocks!

The anger festers, with it coming contempt. Well, so be it. He didn't need the gods. He didn't need anyone. No one has ever helped him anyway. Why rely on Gods who were too selfish to care about one of their own.

The thought made him pause. Was he one of them? A God, a muse, something in between? He'd get his answer over the course of the next few months. Particularly from Hades and Terpsichore themselves.

"Kid," The voice shocks him and he looks up to the skull face of a black stallion. His mane and tail flecked with fire at the ends, small bits of Flames flicking through cracks in his skin. The skull moved with the fluidity of skin and muscles, stretching to show emotion, "So, whatcha think of your Grandpa Zeus?"

Nevaeh glared, his tail spinning around his body, the long hair slapping hard against this being's face. The stranger stood frozen for a minute before he started to laugh, the sound deep, chilling, like skeleton fingers on a chalkboard. "Yeah he gets me riled up too. But the way you plucked him! Not even I have thought that! Name is Hades, I'm Zeus brother, so I guess I'm also your uncle; lucky you." Here, the skeleton face winked and Nevaeh had to suppress a shiver.

The lack of a further reaction had the odd stallion visibly pouting, "Come on, Kid. You know, Hades," His voice took on a booming quality as shadows seemed to writhe around him, "God of the Underworld, King of the dead!" He grinned, easy but proud, "Not that they're much for leading, not a very lively lot." His pout returned as Nevaeh merely rolled his eyes and turned to walk away, "Geeze, everyone's a critic," the odd God of the Underworld huffed before disappearing and leaving Nevaeh alone again.

The odd encounter would do little to soothe the ire building up in Nevaeh's chest. An inferno that grew with every temple he passed, every celebration he saw. Hades had been odd, and not threatening as Zeus had been, but Nevaeh didn't care. He was quickly decided the gods weren't worth his time.

"Nevaeh." The voice was familiar, like out of a dream as the small stallion looked up at the palomino roan. Just like Nevaeh, he seemed to shine, stars and suns speckled across his body like glowing Freckles. The little muse was quiet, his teeth gritting as he stared at his father. Apollo grinned, perfect white teeth, a perfect curled white mane that fell in bouncy tresses around his shoulders.

So long ago, Nevaeh used to climb those shoulders. He'd tug at those perfect curls, watching them bounce back. Now, he hated how put together his father appeared. Catered to in the halls of Olympus, while Nevaeh was starved with metal spikes through his tongue. "My little nightingale, I'm so sorry."

"Don't." The words were hissed through the raw wounds in his muzzle, low and gravely and rarely used. "Don't you dare apologize like you care." Apollo had reared back in alarm, golden eyes wide, but Nevaeh wasn't done, "Not after I suffered for so long. Don't lie and pretend to be a father now. Or I wouldn't have grown up in that place."

Bitter tears had started to fall, and Apollo reached towards him. Nevaeh shrank back, and his father, "At least let me help you." The touch came before he could stop him

It felt like it was ripping through him, old injuries rebreaking to reheal correctly. Emancipated build filling out. But the scars remained, the diminished height didn't change. He snorted, staring at his father who was preening at a 'job well done. No, a job well done would have brought him up to full height. Would have erased the scars that made it hard to talk. Would have kept him from having gone through this beginning. He merely sneered at Apollo, "Stay away. Your no father of mine."

It didn't get easier. Word was starting to spread now, more gods and goddesses becoming aware he'd been 'found' and Zeus had 'miraculously rescued him!' Ha, more like he had failed to kill him. It didn't make it easier. It didn't make it better. Every new face was another face to hate, every new moment was one that made him feel resentful that they hadn't cared before. They didn't see how he had to live, what he had to do, no one cared. They were just glad he was back now. Pathetic.

Then he met his Aunt.

It was a quiet night, and he was looking for a quiet place to rest, any place to rest, and so he was taking to the trees, searching for a small clearing to cuddle up in. That's how he stumbled across their bathing spot. He had momentarily frozen before his shocked, boyish squeal and spinning body allowed Artemis's hunters to notice him. They were advancing before he knew what to do. They surrounded him, shouting horrible things, accusing him of worse.

The voices seemed to penetrate at him, making him want to shrink in a tinier, and tinier size ball, before he finally shouted: shocking the entire group of women into silence, "Shut up! I wouldn't do any of those things! I only like guys!" There was a moment, where even the insects stopped talking before finally one of the mares asked if that was true. The young stallion slowly uncoiled himself but nodded firmly, "Look, you're all lovely - I guess. But really, you could be Aphrodite, herself, and I wouldn't care. Not my type, like literally, wrong chromosomes and everything."

There was astonished laughter from outside the group, and the girls instantly parted to allow a taller, older mare that shone like the moon to come through. She looked down at the little, dark roaned stallion, at the magenta markings that matched her own blue and silver speckled, glowing moon and stars, "You look kinda like my brother, but less gold, less vain, and less trying to jump my hunters." Nevaeh couldn't stop himself from swallowing hard, realizing who the ivory-hued mare that shined in the night was. "Y-yes, I'm glad I took after my mother, as well; Aunt Artemis."

For the second time, the crowded area went silent, as Artemis stared her nephew down curiously, "Nevaeh, right? I heard that you were among the free again. About time, we'd been trying to break through to get you out of that hellish place for years now. Girls, move back, give him room." Nevaeh didn't need the room, he'd collapsed then and there, staring up at his aunt in shock.

This time when he spoke, his words were trembling, afraid she'd laugh about it all, "You . . . you all tried . . . rescuing me." Her touch was more soothing than Apollos, "Course kid, you're my nephew. But good old dad always seemed to muck up our attempts." Her gaze turned more severe, "You okay" Nevaeh swallowed hard again, starting to nod before changing it to a shrug, "Fine, better now. Just . . . tired." Artemis grinned, before ushering him to sleep with her and her girls tonight, after a firm warning not to touch a single one of them inappropriately. His following quip of being able to control himself as long as they didn't try to shift genders had him being accepted well into the group. It was the first time he felt comfortable with one of the Pantheon.

He spent a few weeks with Artemis and her hunters. They taught him to hunt with a bow, to protect himself, and how to find safe places to hide, or bed down. How to avoid the other gods, and how to insult a stallion seven ways to Sunday. But eventually, the past would catch up again, as his father finally showed up with his mother in tow, and Artemis and the hunters hesitantly left him so he could partake in a long-overdue, if not messy family reunion.

He remembers just stopping, staring; unable to look past his mother. Her eyes were wide with tears, the same deep magenta as his own. Her dark body, so small, and lean against his father’s bright, strong design. He remembers her stopping to just look him over, eyes catching on every little detail, the clipped wings, the tiny size. Her eyes were showing further breakage for every second of silence. He didn’t hold back. He ran to her.

There is little purer in the world than the love of a mother for her child. It was this love that froze Nevaeh's heart. He clung to her tightly, pressed to her chest, like he was a foal again, being soothed after a particular nightmare. She hugged him tightly, her muzzle soothing down his mane, as it ran down his spine. He quivered against her, tears falling down his face, just glad to have her embrace once more, to feel that loving touch he had craved for so long.

The young stallion bolted as soon as the heated touch of the sun god was felt. His gaze hardened, cooling as he stared at the father that had stepped in so close, "Don't touch me." The snarl startled his mother, and his ears pinned slightly, apologetically, "You don't deserve that right!"

Apollo wasn't listening, however, frowning instead, "We are a family, shouldn't we embrace like one? I even healed you Nevaeh. Doesn't that count for something. Come now, child." Nevaeh wasn't going to give in, however, backing away instead, eyes cold, distrustful, angry. "Nevaeh." His father's tone hit a warning note.

And Nevaeh snapped, "Don't. Don't you dare try to threaten me! I grew up with threats. Are you really no better than them!? Those who robbed me my freedom? Robbed me of my flight? Robbed me of my free will? What will you demand of me father. What shall your precious son do in your name?" His snarl was pronounced. It wasn't until he felt his mother's touch that he settled again.

Terpsichore looked between father and son, her expression slowly souring before it focused on his father, "You call this healed? Our child stands as tall as a foal, when he should be near my own height. Look at his wings, Apollo? How is this healed? You told me that he was asking for us both, so why does he cringe from you? This was not the reunion you led me to believe it was. Go back to Olympus, Apollo. You are not welcome on Parnassus tonight." His mother's tone was soft, but her words were delivered so sharply that Nevaeh looked on at her with shock.

But his father made a face, reluctantly agreeing with the muse, and as he flew away, the lady turned back to her son, brushing his forelock from his face with her muzzle, "My sweet child. I am so sorry. So, so sorry. So sorry." Her words were repeating, as if something had broken, until he felt himself go weak at her touch, realizing she was crying for what had happened to him, what he had turned into. He leaned into that touch, his eyes closing, "I am too, mother. I am too."

Despite the touching reunion with his mother, she didn't stay long, and for that, he was grateful. But it wouldn't be long before more gods would approach. It seemed like once one had arrived, the others saw it fit to approach, and he was now on some Olympic radar. He hadn't been expecting Aphrodite, however.

She came out of nowhere, swaying her hips as she approached, dolled up to the nines like she had someone to impress. She had sidled up to him quickly, much to his horror. "Ah, you must be Nevaeh. My, you are the handsome little devil, aren't you? Though with a mother like yours, how can I be surprised? Now, darling; my name is Aphrodite, yes, goddess of love. And I'm about to make all your dreams come true."

Nevaeh had never backpedaled away from someone so fast, "Er, no thank you. I'm not interested." Of course, she followed him, flicking her tail against his side, "Listen, miss. I'm sure you're pretty to some, but you really aren't my type." He repeated, backing away again.

The goddess was now pouting, fluttering her eyelashes, "Oh, but I'm the goddess of love! It's alright, admit how you feel." Her purr grated on his ears as he cringed away. She just kept coming, until finally, the young stallion snaps back, "I don't care. I'm not into mares!" She stood frozen before she started to bubble with laughter, suddenly retreating, and her smile turning less predatory and more amused, "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist trying a taste to find out if it was true or not. You're quite the delightful little thing, Nevaeh. And you've got Apollo ruffled about the feathers." This time her touch didn't make his skin crawl and he frowned at the flip of a switch.

She hadn't waited for a response before she had disappeared, startling him at suddenly being alone again. He hadn't expected the sudden arrival, but the sudden departure was even more alarming. He'd been on his guard for a few weeks after that, half expecting her to appear out of nowhere, draped over his back. Thankfully the next god to stumble across him was Hades, again.

The large stallion had been about theatrics that day, perhaps because of the different beings he'd interacted with now. For whatever reason Hades wanted to be his favorite. So the god of the underworld had literally erupted from the ground like some strange zombie wanna be, all fire and brimstone that left Nevaeh wanting to walk the other way. However, he wasn't expecting the gentler approach from the roughest of the gods, "Before you run off, I'm actually just here to check on you." Nevaeh wasn't convinced, his eyes narrowing in distrust, "Look, no joke Nevaeh. I'm Hades, King of the Underworld. Not sure if you're aware of what all that means, but it kinda typically means no one really likes or sees me. WHo like being around King of the Dead, right?"

Nevaeh was hard enough on himself to see the signs of honesty in the self-deprecation this god spoke of. It was with slow, and cautious movements that Nevaeh slowly laid down, limbs folding beneath himself, and his eyes on his uncle, "You'll have to forgive me for not trusting you. Not all of my interactions with the Pantheon have been good. Pretty sure Zeus wants me dead, after all." Hades had snorted, before eyeing the kid more firmly, and Nevaeh was finally forced to answer the unasked question, "I'm getting healthier. Apollo only did so much, it's a lot of trauma to heal from, not just physically."

Hades hummed softly, his gaze dropping away from a moment, "Look, I don't want to overstep my boundaries, Nevaeh. But, you're my nephew. And . . . well, I'm worried, alright. You've hard it hard, and I can get that - my dad did eat me for a while, you know. Kinda sucked. But, what I'm saying is . . . if you need a place to stay, even temporarily, I'll give you sanctuary. Just . . . Just hit the ground twice, and I'll be there. Not all of us are against you." Hades stood, turning to leave, as Nevaeh watched him. He'd barely taken three steps before he felt it behind him. The small, slender hoof pounded the ground twice.

Nevaeh watched Hades spin around, the holes in the skull face where eyes should be somehow showed his surprise, despite the lack of actual eyeballs. Nevaeh said nothing for a moment, looking away awkwardly, embarrassed, "Look, I don't trust you . . . But . . . I could use . . . some safety . . . ." Hades had simply smiled in understanding, before whisking the two of them away.

Nevaeh stayed with Hades for a while, nearly two months before his mother had shown up at the manor-like home Hades lived in. The muse had been led in, her expression skittish, but shifting to a relieved smile at the sight of her son in continued improving health. Nevaeh, much like before, was overcome by the image of his mother standing there, among the dark and decay of the underworld. Like a bright light of salvation to his dark world.

"My child." Her words were so gentle, so tender, and full of love, that it practically broke Nevaeh's heart, and resolve to hear them. This is what he'd been denied for so long. This love, this passion, this promise that the world was okay, he was safe. He leaned into her embrace like a young foal who had just woken from a nightmare. In a way, he had, coming from that hellish prison. "Mother." He greeted just as gently.

Hades had set them up in a room, with a tea set and sampling of the snacks he kept on hand for his new, young roommate, "Mother, I don't wish to be rude, but . . . why are you here?" The question had been delivered in a way to allow a sense, a promise of peace, that he wasn't going to verbally attack her for being here. Not like he did when Apollo popped by, tried to get him to 'remember who family was.'

Terpsichore merely smiled, sipping her tea for a moment, "Nevaeh, you're my child, my own child. My little piece of the night sky. Little Mockingbird," The forgotten nickname had startled him, he hadn't heard it in so long, he'd forgotten about it. She smiled, seeming to notice the surprise, "Did you ever learn the story of that nickname?" The young stallion shook his head, mute, unsure, and her smile widened, "You were such a pale thing as a foal, speckled dark, and looked a lot like one. Not that we had really noticed until you'd made friends with an entire nest. We went to wake you up from a nap, my sisters and I; and found you asleep, with about four or five mockingbirds nestled up against you."

Nevaeh's surprise was wide, amused even, "I don't remember that," he admitted, to which his mother had smiled gently, "I'm not surprised, you were so little then . . ." Her smile dropped, her gaze softening, saddening, "I held onto those memories, so insignificant at the time, afraid I'd never see you again, that they would be all I had left of you." Nevaeh touched his mother's muzzle gently, "But it wasn't all the time we will have together. I'm here now mother.

After that meeting, Nevaeh's trust and self-assurance were growing in leaps and bounds, spending an equal amount of time in the underworld as he did in the land above. He never went to Olympus, or Parnassus; however. Spending most of his time exploring Hades' domain, or the land of the mortals (He was basically a mortal himself, anyway). It was during this time that he'd come across Zeus's temple, a temple that seemed so perfect, so beautiful and stately, like the god it was for could do no wrong.

Fire welled up inside him. He reacted.

Nevaeh had stood in front of the large building, his gaze hard, before he let his muzzle dip one, ignoring the pain this was about to cause, preparing for it, as he began to sing. The vocals came smoothly, delicately, cascading over the land, calling to anyone who would hear it, installing hate of this place, of the god it represented, of the being that had hurt him so, so much. Had kept him trapped in that hell hole, who now sought his demise.

The first came as small animals. Burrowers, insects, small lizards, and mammals. But as he kept singing, the mob grew with more powerful creatures, all running into walls, ramming into pillars, kicking at monuments, trampling offerings. Nevaeh didn't stop, didn't hesitate. His smirk grew, and with it, the hatred he sang into the song grew. "BOY!" The shout halted him mid lyric, and the sudden stop had him finally tasting blood in his mouth from where his ravaged scarring had been forced open by the melody, reopening old wounds. He swallowed against the metallic tang, instead of turning towards Zeus, "Hello Grandfather. I thought I'd help redecorate the place for you."

The animals, no longer under the thrall of his song were beginning to find their way out, but Zeus paid them no mind, his rage directed on his grandchild as he stormed forward.

The flash of fire and heat was enough to make the young stallion feel like he'd been saved briefly from a quick death. The stallion who stood in front of him decked out in a militia's finest, wild black curls, wicked sharp black horn, and a bay pelt stretched sinfully well over defined muscles. Nevaeh was suddenly okay with dying after seeing the handsome beast in front of him. Ares had been called forth by the desire for war, having seen it coming between the boy and Zeus for a while. And he'd chosen his side.

Ares stared down Zeus, snorting, "Stop this, it's getting ridiculous, the boy is owed his due for your actions against him. You're slowly creating a wedge, preparing the pantheon for a war against itself over this being YOU wronged, Zeus. Many of the pantheon support him, especially over you. Do you really think this is a good idea? Fighting this battle. The boy has the gift of a muse, sure to strengthen the will and drive of those on his side. With the God of War backing him, do you really think you can win."

Nevaeh spoke without realizing it, "Oh, you can definitely back me any time." As soon as the words were out of his muzzle, his face turned a shade of magenta that put his markings to shame, startling Zeus and Ares both. Ares began to laugh quickly, shaking his head, and winking at the younger stallion, "Kid, I'd break you." He promised, not that Nevaeh could find anything wrong with that. There was something dreadfully unfair about someone looking that yummy and fit for war. Right. War, and the reason he was here. Nevaeh turned his attention back to Zeus, forcing his features to calm, to cool off, "I don't want a war. I've seen enough of it." Suddenly his words sounded older than he felt, and his gaze was emotionless as he stared Zeus down, "I don't care that you hate me, that you want me dead. Frankly, I don't want to see you either. So, why can't we part ways and just avoid each other. I'm mortal anyways, not like I'll live long enough to cause you a headache worth creating."

Zeus had sneered but seemed to see reason, even if just briefly, "Stay out of my sight, and off my lands. If I come across you again, I'll hunt you down like the piece of filth you are." Nevaeh shut his eyes quickly against the burst of light as Zeus fled, before Ares bumped his shoulder, "Huh, good job talking that old man down. Now . . . . back to your comment before." Nevaeh gulped back at the sudden predatory look on Ares face, as the stallion grinned deeper, "After all, to the victor goes the spoils of war, and it was a war over you . . . " The god of war was good looking, sure, but even Nevaeh could tell when he bit off more than he could chew. His hoof slammed down onto the earth twice, in rapid succession, causing Ares to pout, even as Nevaeh was spiraled away, back down to the underworld. Note to self, be cautious about what you say out loud.

The sudden escape wasn't a surprise to Hades, or so it appeared as Nevaeh would appear in front of him, simply glancing up from his paperwork briefly, before motioning him off to do whatever he did to keep himself busy, and scarce in the Underworld. Hades never asked, which ensured the peace and quiet Nevaeh always found in Persephone's gardens, the little bit of life in the underworld. The Opal-hued mare wasn't about, not at the moment, that is. it didn't bother him too much, and so he went about relaxing and unwinding from his near war experience.

It would be almost a full day before Hades finally approached him, perhaps that is how long it took for word to spread, or perhaps that was just how long it took for Hades to decide something was bothering him. Either way, one moment the young stallion was enjoying his space, and then, he wasn't.

"I thought I would find you here." Nevaeh jumped, looking up as the skull-faced stallion approached him, sparks licking off his body and mane. Nevaeh sighed, leaning back in some of the soft grasses, "Aunt Persephone know you're sparking in her gardens?" The smaller stallion asked his great Uncle. Hades sighed with a shrug, "What do you want Hades?" He finally added, seeing there was no way to distract the taller stallion.

Hades gently sighed, laying down near, but not next to the small pegasus. He'd learned not to ground the kid pretty early on. His jaws clicked, horns flashing ruby in the odd faux light that provided sun somehow to Persephone's plants, "I wanted to check on you. Are you alright? I see you pacing sometimes. Are you still that uncomfortable here, with me?" Nevaeh sighed slowly, lowering his head, "Honestly, Hades. . . . I'm just. I'm tired. I feel like there is no peace for me here. Whether it's watching myself for those men to find me again - or avoiding Zeus dodging me every step, it really feels like there is no escape."

Hades frowned, before reaching out very slowly. While Nevaeh froze, he didn't lunge away, so Hades gently ruffled those long locks, "I promise, kid, I'll always be there to help you, alright?" Nevaeh managed an awkward, frail smile, "Will you though?" He asked, before getting up, "I'm leaving soon, Greece I mean, not the underworld. I don't want to risk Zeus changing his mind on what his domain really is." Hades nodded once, "Just remember, Nevaeh, knock on the ground twice, and I'll be there."

Nevaeh smiled, a rare, but frail one. "Thank you . . . . Uncle Hades."

The young stallion didn't stay around for much longer after that. In less than a month, he had his bags packed and was leaving Greece. He had no idea that wouldn't really help.

Running, always running
The stallion noticed it didn't take long before he was feeling his steps stalked, having to dodge shady individuals. He tried to write it off, convinced he was just imagining it, it wasn't real, he was fine. He was free of Greece, so surely he was safe, he didn't need to worry. Then the notes started. Left where he would find them, asking if he missed working together. If he regretted what had happened to Marcus. Did he miss them? Nevaeh could feel the fear billowing in his gut, but he refused to let them run him off. He could be brave. He would be brave.

Nevaeh was walking through a field of flowers, taking his time, and enjoying the songbirds that sang from tree to tree. A slight smile touched his muzzle, enjoying the peace. It was perfect, beautiful, his eyes closed briefly. This is why he left Greece because he knew this awaited him. Freedom. "Hey, kid." The voice came from his left, and Nevaeh's eyes snapped open. He recognized one of the men of Marcus's group instantly, and his blood ran cold.

His gaze swept around as others emerged, circling around him, "G-get back! I don't want to hurt you b-but I will." The small stallion said, staring up at the large stallions as they slowly approached, closing the distance. He opened his muzzle again, and his voice sang out, only to see the men smirking, "We know your tricks kid. Stuffed our ears this time." The young stallion felt his heart pick up a beat.

He had to get out, get safe, think of something. Something. Something. He couldn't defeat these men, he couldn't control them. He didn- wait. Just because his voice wouldn't work on them didn't mean no one else was available. So he smirked, and just like with Zeus's temple, his words came out, this time aimed at the animals all around, asking for their help, their aide. Swarms of insects descended, rats and mice jumping from burrows to attack ankles, birds sweeping down to peck at heads, and then the howls. Howls of a nearby wolf pack.

The men were nervous now, eyeing him, and exchanging nervous looks. When the wolves began to circle and close in, Nevaeh breathed out a sigh of relief, mid-song, as the men ran off. But Nevaeh didn't let up just yet. He continued to send the animals out until they were outside of the range of his magic, and only then did he allow himself to relax, and be thankful he'd remembered that way to save himself.

He should have known that wouldn't be the only time they had approached him, however. He should have known they would try again, have other means of sneaking up on him, otherways to get at him. He wouldn't remember until it was too late, too close, until he hadn't been able to find a way out, however. When he'd allowed himself to relax in an Inn, fell asleep in his nest of blankets and pillows.

"Kid, time to wake up." Nevaeh blurrily opened his eyes, confused at being woken up. He turned his head to see who it was that had spoken only to lunge back when he saw the grinning face of one of those horrible men. Nevaeh's mouth had opened quickly, moving to jump to his feet, when the man spoke again, "Pin him." The weight on his back had him collapsing back into the pillows, struggling to move, even as he felt that cursed halter pushed onto his face, locking shut around his muzzle, the cold metal between his teeth, threatening him with the slightest hint of those enchanted spikes.

Nevaeh was shaking as he was pinned down, "See kid, I knew you missed us. Look at you, already wearing your jewelry again. Aren't I nicer than Marcus ever was? Coming all this way to make sure you were safe, alive. To bring you home." The stallion brushed his muzzle against Nevaeh's cheek, laughing when the smaller stallion flinched away, "I always knew you would be mine, see; I didn't ever think Marcus deserved you. He wasted your potential. You might have a talent, but ... it was a talent that came from your parents ... which means any children you had would have it too, and you are such a lovely stallion, little bird; so it seems only fitting I help achieve this new level of control"

Nevaeh was shaking in fear as that muzzle brushed down his neck, nosing his sides, tugging at his fur with cruel nips, "We'll have so much fun getting to know each other." He'd been straining the entire time, and finally, his hoof was out far enough. It slammed into the ground twice, and in seconds, Hades had arrived with a yawn, only to freeze mid-greeting to stare in shock at his haltered nephew and the two stallions practically pinning him down, "FOOLISH MORTALS" Suddenly his uncle was on fire, the cursed halter melting off his face with the heat, and the stallion spat out the metal rod left in his mouth. The men had let go and he scrambled to his hooves, dodging behind the angry god. The men didn't stand a chance in front of the angry God of Death, smote on the spot.

"I had worried . . . leaving Greece wouldn't help you." Hades finally admitted twenty minutes later after feeding the younger stallion and soothing his worries. "I'd talked to hermes . . . . He wants to discuss something with you."

Catching one's breath
Hermes had arrived after they had finished eating, winging his way through the window and grinning brightly at both of them. He'd offered a simple idea, a way out of not just Greece, but this world. A chance to start over new, a chance for freedom.

"It's simple really, we cut your string of fate, but not the one tying you to life, just the one tying you to this world. And we'll just tie it to a different world. It'll be like connecting you to a new life, except, instead of life, it'll be a whole new world, country, place. No one will know, what you can do. Heck, they might not even know who we are. What do you say kid?"

Nevaeh had jumped at such a clean-cut, and despite the nerves of going somewhere unknown, it was his chance for real freedom. Freedom from everything. Zeus. His father. The men who hunted him for his power. So he and Hades had gone after the fates, had begged them for the chance. It hadn't been easy to convince them, but finally . . .

"You shall never return, will you be able to survive on your own in a new world, you godling?" Nevaeh looked to the fate and nodded quietly, "I have been on my own for a long time, at least this time, I will not have to wear a bulls eye upon my back." The small stallion said with all the sincerity of someone ready to accept their fate. The Fates nodded as one, pulling a string tight, and snapping it. The sudden weightlessness was alarming to the stallion, his gaze blurry as they began to tie it off, "Nevaeh."

-continued in other.

BRIEF DESCRIPTION
Neveah was born a muse. He's an inspiration, able to whisper into the minds of others to encourage, to give them ideas, to give them the faith to try that new song, to make that new piece of art, to encourage the trying of a new style. But his abilities are so much more, so much deeper, for at the core of any muse is that ability to manipulate the mind and to start the spark to encourage, to turn, to make others do as you wish, all in the name of 'Inspiration.'

PARVUS
Neveah has always been described as a music genius, able to mirror songs by just listening, mastering instruments in days instead of months . . . his magic has made him hate picking one up. With absolutely no control of his parvus, any music he plays will force his own emotions onto others. Playing a sad song will encourage others to cry, something happy will incite happiness. Something angry will beacon war.

TIER ONE
Neveah has an uncanny ability to seemingly say the right thing, however, this is only his magic manipulating others into believing what he is saying is just what they want to hear. It's a certain inflection of his voice, a certain tone to be used, that make others more receptive to what he's saying, what he's suggesting, what he's wanting them to do. It's fairly easy to shake off, thankfully; but he has little control over that infliction.

TIER TWO
Neveah will unintentionally make suggestions. He tries to be helpful, but his magic gives it that extra push. It's not merely a 'try this color,' and instead is whispered into their minds that 'I must try this color'. It's subtle shifts, subtle twinges of influencing others where their artistic talents can grow, encouraging in a way that tricks them into thinking it was their idea all along. He can shift the thoughts of another subtly only, small suggests for what they are already working, working towards.

TIER THREE
Neveah will be more hesitant to speak now. His words have more power, his words can change thoughts, can alter opinions. A suggestion that 'maybe they need a better friend' can break friendships that have been strong for years. A soft suggestion of 'maybe it's not your child' can destroy a relationship, a family. A quiet comment of 'You should burn it all down' can cause a war. And he'd been forced before to do all of that. He's terrified of ever having to do the same again.

TIER FOUR
Neveah is a true muse, he can alter the course of history by sparking the fire in up-and-coming generals. He can encourage a new wave of medicines by suggesting a healer try something they were too afraid to. Or, he can start global wars by feeding rumors, and encouraging their beliefs. His words can be woven so subtly, they're hard to detect, the magic is hard to acknowledge, and his snare can be tangling, stealing a listener's freedom of will. Changing the world, for the better or the worse.

He glanced to his uncle, who suddenly seemed in a rush as a portal began to open, "Nevaeh, Persephone's missing . . . if you see . . . if you see her . . . could you . . . just . . . ." Nevaeh smiled his rare smile, reaching towards his uncle even as the portal began to tug at him, to wrap him in its embrace. "I promise, Uncle, I'll keep a look out . . . and if I see her, if I find her . . . I'll help her, protect her. I swear it." He smiled one last time before disappearing in a flash of light.

Nevaeh came to in a new world, settled on the beach of some unknown coast. He looked around, noticing the oddness to the world. It sounded different, smelled different, felt different. He approached the water, kicking at it slowly, only to jump back as he noticed something distinctly wrong. Approaching the water again, he lowered his head closer, long hair trailing into the surf. His . . . his eyes . . . they were . . . they weren't magenta. Instead his reflection showed a golden-yellow color, the same he associated with his father. Why had his eyes changed. He stepped back with a shake, before looking around. Up above, off from the side of a cliff was an odd building, like a temple, but with solid walls. He could hear voices in the distance. He sighed, before he finally realized what felt wrong, off, different. Could it be. Where was the humm of his magic, the subtle encouragement to muse those around him. Hesitantly, the stallion open his muzzle, a song flowing from parted lips. But . . . that was it. A perfectly pitched song, but that was all it was. A song. No magic to weave into the minds of others. No whisper into the conscious, to change their mood, to inspire. His muzzle split open into a wide (though painful smile). This really was a chance for a new life, where no one would know him, where he was just a stallion. Because his magic was gone. He wasn't a muse anymore! And so he quietly stepped away from the surf, leaving 'Nevaeh' behind and stepping forward as a regular stallion, taking on a new name, a new identity. The muse could die in the memories of the olympians, as Gabriel made his way from the shore of Terminus Sea, and deeper into Novus. Free. Finally . . . free.

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All images colored by me

Arborath - Creator of Full Body Lineart

Draya87 - Creator of Lineart used for 'Avatar' in Appearance

Raraku27 - Creator of Lineart used for 'Avatar in Personality