His dreams and waking hours both were haunted by the phantom agony and velvety voice of his vision. He would wake gasping, covered in sweat, with a concerned Raglan hovering over him, mint tea and a pitcher of water hovering at his side. Camdis would clench his teeth and blink, try to slow his racing heart and control his erratic breath, and shake his head at the question in his ward's jeweled eyes. It was a source of shame to the horned regent, this fear that coursed through his veins and the words that circled about his mind nearly every moment, an echo of the creature in his vision. 

Questions plagued him, yet a new strength bolstered his physical form; a sort of sturdiness that coated his frame and whisked away the pain that used to grasp at his joints. Most of the stallion was convinced that the specter in his dream had been Caligo, but the skeptical portion that remained screamed that it was no more than a demon - but a demon with a voice like the void? A demon with enough power to wrench his body away from him? A demon who's entire being emanated a terrible, all-consuming power? What sort of demon could traipse about in the guise of a god? 

Make it dark like the Void...

Camdis Lohir the Devout, the smallfolk had taken to calling him in the streets. The Exile King, The Holy Son... The names went on and on. Yet, despite his association with religion, with worship and love for their patron goddess, the stallion had not been to the holy mountain to speak with his god. He had been there to sully the name of Solis and attempt to make a woman's skin crawl beneath his gaze, but he hadn't been able to drag himself to that sacred precipice again. Not with the terror that dragged at his steps every time he considered that his wretched vision hadn't been a blessing but a reckoning and a curse.

What if Caligo hated him? Hated what he had done and hated who he had become? The possibility was too painful to bear. 

Camdis was about to delve into that exact brand of agonizing thought when Raglan appeared between the library stacks. Brows raising, the Stained Hand rose from his place among his cushions and approached his ward. "Is it time already?" Came his murmured question - the pair had become familiar enough to forego greetings, "I hadn't even noticed." Moving down the aisle with the winged yearling at his side, Camdis shoved thoughts of Caligo and demons away; those sort of dark things had no place in the spotlight of the Court. 

The pair walked through the winding labyrinth of halls and passages that made up the innards of the Nightfort in a companionable silence, moving close enough to each others' sides that Raglan's feathers would brush against Camdis' ribs every so often. Then, as the two emerged from the darkness of the keep and into the starlit open, Raglan lead the Regent across the courtyard and down the many carved steps toward the marketplace. Among the frolicking and dancing Denoctians stood their chosen king, the sight of his chocolate pelt sent a thrill down Camdis' spine and he found himself grinning. Indeed, the ruby stained stallion's smile could only grow as he and the Silvertongue Crow approached to stand at Reichenbachs right. 

Dipping his head, Camdis leaned to the left to bump the sovereign's shoulder with his own in a show of friendship and camaraderie; Camdis knew that even among the children of one's own nation, a King could still feel alone. 

"Looking forward to announcing a cranky old bastard as your Regent?" Came his playful greeting, silvery eyes sparkling with mirth, "Raglan promised not to gossip, but I have a feeling the Crows are already aware of my new position." Shooting a smirk at the yearling, Camdis chuckled at the ever so slight widening of his ward's eyes - the boy was a good liar, but he needed more practice at not giving himself away with silent queues. 

---

It was rather fun for the lad to watch the changes in Camdis Lohir's demeanor depending on where he was and who he was with. Raglan's shrewd opal eyes had learned much of the generally cranky young stallion's behavior in the short time that they had been paired. Often, he wondered at what had made the male such a rough figure at such a young age - only a year or two older than Raglan himself - but he refused to ask the Regent and he couldn't glean an answer from petty glances and careful breaths. Despite this, though, the lad had grown a soft spot for the scarlet stained man; he was kind to Raglan and never asked of him something that the boy may not be comfortable with. 

It was an odd sensation, to be trusted and valued among those that he did not rescue from the cobbles and smoke of the city. Rather, Camdis and Reichenbach had flipped the tables, rescuing the yearling and the rest of the Crows from poverty and filth, placing them among jewels and wealth and giving them a purpose beyond survival. 

So as he escorted Camdis from the library and into the marketplace, their silence comfortable and familiar, the Silvertongue did not pull away or flinch when his feathers brushed against the Regent's side. The pair slowed to stand beside the Orphan King, Camdis' face breaking into a grin and his eyes brightening more and more every second. A small smile of his own began to stir upon Raglan's features, dark lips curling at the prospect of the heat and adoration that grew between the two stallions; in any other position, the pair would have probably acted upon their feelings, but it seemed that each of them were blinded by their sense of duty and could not see what was plainly before them. 

Such a pity, unrequited love. 

Ears perking as he heard his name fall from Camdis' tongue, Raglan worked to keep his expression neutral as his guardian discussed his suspicions. It was an effort not to defend himself, to protest his obvious guilt, but the boy dared not say a word in front of the First Crow - Reichenbach would know, just as he always knew, so there was no point in denying it. Instead, the youth let his jeweled eyes wander across the crowd, gaze catching on a pegasus mare shooting into the sky, a silver haired lass chatting with a comically small stallion... All things that were to be expected within the Court of Dreams and Smoke.

Yet, where were the Crows? Where were the children of shadows that lurked beneath the gaze of watchers unseen and unknown? Where were the true Children of Denocte?

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