Israfel had never been to Denocte before. There had never been a reason for her to be.
 
Now? Well.
 
Here she was. She had a reason. She was searching for a particular face. Two faces, if one were to get technical.
 
The shield-maiden carried herself as any proud warrior should as she wove her way through the market stalls of Denocte; erect and upright, head held high and proud, gaze forward and unrelenting. Any curious set of eyes that she met, she held, never faltering, never blinking. There would be no lowered glances, no shy fiddling, and no awkward shuffling of hooves. This may not be her home, but she was not defenseless, not a coward, and she had not come to cause strife anyway.
 
Let them try to stop her.
 
She was done standing still, letting the world pass her by. She was tired of the whispers within her own Court, the secrets kept hidden away. Although the title of Warden was hers to have and hold, Israfel did not know what it meant, what they wanted from her, not when she was so out of the loop with her Regime. How could she serve them if she did not know their plans? Their motivations? Their drive? Rumor had it that Cyrene was now their Emissary, and Asterion, their Regent. There was no way for her to know for sure. No one had told her a damn thing. Everything she knew, which wasn’t much, she had learned from eavesdropping on hurried, whispered conversations in the hallways.
 
Nothing made sense. The feeling of stagnancy and tension had chased her from her own home, urging her to get lost with the rebels and gypsies that inhabited Denocte. Now? Here she was, but she was not alone. After that night, when the world had stood still and devoid of color, of life, she would never be alone again.
 
’… Just don’t do anything foolish.’ Solaris’ reminder caused her to smirk, pink lips turned upwards almost sardonically. There was a dark blemish marring the back of Israfel’s mind, a plague against her peace. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. She was just so frustrated; at herself and at her Court. That mar, that bitter little speck in her mind, itched for trouble. It yearned for something that she could take her frustration out on, yet she held firm against it. Frustrated and angry, yes, but she was not a monster hell bent on revenge.
 
Solaris was perched upon Israfel’s withers, her long feathers tucked close, violet eyes calculating and judgmental as the large Phoenix stared out among the crowds, holding the gaze of everyone they passed. What a sight they surely made as they stalked through the streets. Israfel, tall and lithe and proud in her ivories and golds, the ferocity of her vermilion gaze unrelenting and powerful. Beautiful and breathtaking, but unpredictable and dangerous, wild, charismatic, and unattainable. Solaris, a beautiful bird of prey, gilded and proud, long feathers swaying in the evening breeze and sharp talons digging into Israfel’s flesh just above her wing joints. With just a though the Phoenix could ignite and set fire to this whole place, if she wanted. She didn’t. They were an impressive pair, an exotic pair, a Phoenix and a demi-goddess from another world, but unlike the exotic and expensive goods here, they were not for sale.
 
“I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here for him.” For Isorath. For Aether. Whichever she found first. One would lead her to the other, that was simply how this all worked out. Still, perhaps she was going about this all wrong. While fun and mysterious and charming in their own way, with pretty trinkets, expensive perfumes, and exotic goods, these bustling streets and market stalls were not where Israfel would find Isorath. The area was too dense for Aether’s incredible size. That didn’t stop the Warden’s vermilion eyes from watching for him as she continued on her way, ignoring those who tried to get her attention with false smiles or fancy trinkets, and instead focused on navigating the crowds until she found a far quieter corner of the market, less populated and more open. Her scent carried along the breeze, woodsmoke from her bloodline and ocean salt from the cliffs of Terrastella, mingling with the incense and perfumes.
 
Once there, sheltered in the shadows of Night’s unfamiliar embrace, she settled back to watch. Maybe he would be out and about. Maybe they would cross paths. Maybe they wouldn’t. At the very least, Israfel hoped that she could gain some kind of inkling as to where he was. Until then, she would stand there with Solaris perched upon her shoulders, ignore those who tried to sway her into conversation, and wait.