This wasn't the first time he had wandered from home without his brother or mother, but it is the first time he's wandered so far from home. It isn't as if it's a bad thing, he's two and he has his wits about him, he'd finally grown in to his legs, in to his body. Of course, he'd grow a little taller but at the moment, he was mostly filled out, enough to tower over his mother a good chunk of the time and have to lean down to nuzzle her properly.
Honestly, he'd been curious about this place ever since he had met Isorath, and he found himself meandering about Denocte, until he finally kicked himself in the rear and decided to come out here. The Dusk Court. The kirin had told him about it -- he glanced about, wondering if Isorath was around -- and it was a beautiful place, he found. There was a sense of peace here, and the eyes of the locals didn't sear in to him like those in his homeland. They were curious, but not accusing of him, of his heritage.
It felt good to wander about a place with others, where they wouldn't glare or hiss between their teeth on his 'foul' heritage. It felt good, too, to be somewhere and feel free for once.
He had not thought he’d been gone to Night so long, but when he returns from Denocte he finds that spring has come to Terrastella.
It is a fragile thing (much like Aislinn’s mending wing), the first snowdrops uncurling, tender petals to the sun. It is nothing but a promise in each breath of wind, a steady drip of snow melting from the eaves, a laughing, rushing network of streams that criss cross the Dusk Court like stitches.
Though he is exhausted, though a hundred worries still dog his mind, Asterion still pauses to close his eyes and turn his face to the sun when he at last crosses back into the city. Maybe it is strange – perhaps it is undignified – for a regent to bask in the warm spring light in the middle of the square, but if so Asterion is unconcerned with propriety. It feels too good to stretch his weary muscles.
At last he shakes himself back to the moment, smiles at what gazes he meets, and makes his way to the castle.
He has not gone far when his dark eyes catch sight of a striking figure, warm ivory and rich violet. But strange colors are nothing new, in Novus; it is the boy’s wings that make him pause, and for a moment he only watches as the young stallion looks around. Asterion thinks he recognizes that expression – he’d worn it himself his first few days in the city. This is enough to convince him to step forward, settling in alongside the paint with a smile.
“Hello,” he says, and dips his chin in greeting, though his gaze lingers curious on the boy. For once Asterion doesn’t have to search his memory, wondering if he’s seen this stranger before; this was somebody he would remember. “Are you looking for something?”
As much as he had made noise, with clattering hooves, it was no surprise that he managed to draw the attention of someone else. Still, he was just as startled as his head turned, small wings flapping before cupping against his head. Many would tie him to his mother with those wings, though he had heard of others now appearing in the lands with them as well. Part of him had begun to wonder if they were related to his mother at all, though the thought seemed far too unrealistic.
The feathered young man cleared his throat, pinning his ears forward instead and offering a small smile as he attempted to posture himself in a more casual and relaxed way. Cyn had no reason to believe that he was unwelcome here; this wasn't the Day Court an its inhabitants, nor was it the Night Court and its populace that still side-eyed him with venom on their tongues. "Hello," he finally managed to answer, blinking as he relaxed himself a little more, drawing in a breath to calm what little panic there was. He might not have been out on his own before, but there was no danger here, only a sense of ease.
"I-- no. I'm not looking for anything in particular. I've.. heard about this court, in passing. Someone named Isorath had mentioned the Dusk Court as a place of wonder, and I wanted to see it myself. I've never gotten a chance to do such a thing," he admitted, his wings flicking slightly against the sides of his head, just little ruffles of feathers. "Though... I haven't seen him in a while, and... wanted to take a trip. I hope I'm not really intruding, I've only been curious." Curious and breathless with the excitement that such a place as this existed, where no one would know his heritage, his lineage that had come from the combining of two very unlikely souls in a tumultuous time.
Asterion has no reference point from which to place such distinct wings – his time in Novus has been brief, and most of it spent well within the confines of the Dusk Court – and so the only thing his expression holds is mild wonder as he watches them move, swift and soft as a sparrow’s.
It is best, perhaps, that he is ignorant to the boy’s parentage. The mix of Night and Day would make him think no differently – but the colt’s father is another matter.
But any thoughts of Tor (still a faceless stranger; nothing but a name and a lance of the closest thing to anger Asterion has ever felt) are far from his mind at the moment.
Alas, his warmer thoughts do not last. The bay’s dark eyes briefly widen at Isorath’s name, and he looks away to cover his discomfort. He had wondered if he would see the kirin while he was in Denocte; something low and dark twisted in his belly at the thought of the man who had begun to teach him to read, the man whose title he now held.
Politics seem to him a different kind of trial than the others he had faced. Asterion prefers the monsters that did not hide their teeth.
Still he wears a smile by the time he turns back to the stranger. “I agree that it is,” he says, and does not add though I do not think he’d say so any longer.“And curiosity is always welcome here. My name is Asterion, and I would be happy to show you the city.” His smile is still slight, but no less true. “Where are you visiting us from?”
Those wings flutter and Cason merely tilts his head to one side, just a small fraction, enough of an action to send a ripple of his white locks against his neck, and he blinks at the other just a little curious with pink eyes. There was a reaction to the Kirin's name, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. Nevertheless, Cynix attempted to offer a small smile instead toward--- well, he hadn't gotten his name, had he? That was a little rude of him, missing out on introductions. Cyn was usually good with it, but maybe now he was just so excited that someone was speaking to him without venom on their tongue.
Before he can open his mouth to right the error, the other offers up a name, and those wings flutter. Cyn instead smiles bright, standing a little taller and allowing himself a small laugh in the back of his throat.
"My name is Cynix. It is a pleasure to meet you, Asterion," he stated, glad to have a name for the face, and to be able to give his name, rather than stand around like some sort of ninny. Excitement seemed to flicker and flood through him, but he clamped down on it instead, his eyes drawing upward slowly before he licked his lips. Nerves coiled through him, though at the moment he refused to let them get the best of him.
This was Dusk, not his home of Denocte and judgement. "From Denocte," he finally said, offering a smile. "It's good to be in a place where, well. Where there is no judgement in eyes that fall upon me."
Asterion wonders if he was once as shy as this boy; on the heels of this thought is the question of whether he still is. Certainly he possesses none of the boldness of Florentine or Isorath or Reichenbach (though their confidence was as distinct as their looks; he’d never known there were so many kinds of self-assurance). Lately he hasn’t felt sure of anything – not since the festival. The only thing he’s learned is how to pretend.
But he is not pretending now, as he smiles at the youth, dipping his head at the returned introduction.
“I am glad you feel at ease here, Cynix,” he says truthfully, and motions with his chin like he would wave a hand, gesturing that they might move forward and walk the sunlit streets. “I found them very welcoming when I was a stranger who knew nothing of this world.” He keeps an ear trained on the boy, but now his gaze shifts back to him, too. There is a slight furrow in his brow, a shadow of confusion in his eye, when he speaks again. “But I thought the Night Court is considered the least judgmental. I’d not heard otherwise.”
No – they certainly seemed free. Free to hurt, free to deceive. He still has trouble reconciling it: that the same Reichenbach he’d shared a nightcap with in the Terrastella kitchens only weeks before had left a friend of Flora’s and citizen of Dusk’s hovering on the edge of death.
Once more he looks away, his gaze falling on the walls that rose smooth into the sunshine. It is a beautiful spring day in the court he calls home, but it does nothing for the shadow on his heart. Oh, it had been so much easier in that other world, where dangers were common as dandelions but none of them came from his own kind.
It was funny, how, in a few seasons, he would finally be of a proper age be three. Be able to make his own proper choices instead of waiting on approval from his mother for some of them. A frightening experience to think of, really, but one he would embrace with opened arms. It would be exhilarating, perhaps, or would it be the same as he was now? Certainly, he'd have to choose a place to be in Denocte, if they wanted him properly within their ranks.
He wasn't sure how they viewed him still. Sometimes there were still poisonous rumors that floated, harsh and biting words, but they had begun to die down slowly over time.
Turning himself, he began to follow his new companion, his hooves clicking in a soft rhythm as they moved, allowing for him to explore and glance around. His wandering eyes paused briefly, wings fluttering almost anxiously as he turned his gaze toward Asterion, and a small smile tugged his lips, a bit sad. "Well... I was born in a.. tumultuous time. When Day and Night were on the brink of war. My father, you see, was from Day. My mother is the Champion of Wisdom of Night. It was... hard, growing up when tensions were so high. To hear I shouldn't exist, when I was only a small colt."
The words seemed to drain him of some happiness, the flicker of light in those pale eyes fading before it sparked back, and he shook his head, braids falling at his nape once more. "Though those rumors have begun to die down now that the tensions are dissipating. It's still.. nice to be in a place where no one knows my lineage, or views me as someone that should have never been born in the world."
@Asterion || i see these two being decent friends. if asterion never finds out his dad is tor lol
There is such a weight in the boy’s sad smile; Asterion meets his eyes as he begins to talk but soon turns his gaze away. An ear and his attention remain settled on the paint as he listens, but he watches a swallow dart and drop and swiftly turn, wondering if he will ever be so sure of himself as that small bird. His sigh when Cynix pauses is almost lost on the breeze.
“I’m starting to worry the times are always tumultuous, here,” he says, and though he still wears a soft smile a shadow passes over his gaze like a cloud over the sea. It’s gone by the time he looks back to the boy, his gaze considering. “That was a terrible thing for them to say, especially when they couldn’t understand. I don’t know much of love, but I’m not sure it’s something we can choose, and I know it doesn’t always make sense.”
Certainly his own experience proves this. Asterion could no more stop his feelings for the gypsy warrior of night than he could stop the constellations from returning each night. Any recent…complications…between their two courts had no effect on his love for Aislinn.
And so he nods, as the boy continues speaking, and feels a pang of sorrow. A boyhood should not be spent under such a shadow. When he had first arrived here, he had though Novus to be so civilized, so elegant, compared to the feral lands and feral horses he had known.
Now he wonders what makes those that live here so slyly savage.
There is a moment where Asterion almost presses his muzzle to the boy’s shoulder, but in the end he refrains; he is not a man to touch when he is not sure he is welcome, even to comfort. Instead he only offers another smile, and hopes it is enough.
“I can understand that – getting to be who you are, and not who someone has decided you must be. You’re welcome in this court any time, Cynix.” He pauses, his gaze shifting ahead to where the stones of the citadel rise above them, and this time his smile becomes nearly a grin. “Though you may find us boring in comparison.”
@Cynix I can too! though he should totally find out eventually :p
"I very much doubt you're boring. I happen to like a calm court," came the reply, and his lips twitched up just a little, in to a small yet soft smile as he eased himself a little more. Perhaps this could be a place to visit and frequent, if he was lucky.
"I would love to be given a tour, if you don't mind showing me around?" Cynix took a couple steps, his ears flicking forward, wings fluttering in what could be excitement.
“I’m finding I do, too,” he says, matching that hint of a smile with his own. “I hope that we remain that way.” It is an easy thing to say, standing there in the slanting sunlight, when Asterion has no idea of what is to come.
Nothing gold can stay – not spring, not peace. They all must learn to be ready.
The bay nods at the boy’s next question, pleased at the boy’s excitement. It is the second time he’s given a tour of his home, though the paint is a far different man than Eik, Asterion feels the same slow pride as he takes in his home. After being in Denocte, he sees it almost anew.
“I would be honored,” he tells Cynix, and their steps ring out together on the cobblestones.
