and i wanted to change the world
There was a small part of him, a part he had crammed into a deep corner of himself, out of sight, out of mind, that knew better. Anger was still a foreign emotion to the young regent, one in which he had little experience. Let alone untethered, unsupervised, unrestrained outrage, the same brand of fury that curled now like smoke through his lungs.
It would have its consequences, there was no doubt. Rash and impetuous decisions always did, when the adrenaline wore off and regret was all that remained, when realization dawns in the aftermath.
But his magic loves his anger, leeching onto it; the blood which sears his veins, burning like liquid fire, loves it. His anger is the fuel it desperately needs, and it swells beneath its nurturing care.
But somewhere his heart is weeping.
It turns away from the heat that is burning up his arteries from the inside. And Ipomoea smothers the sounds of its distress from his mind.
He sees her from across the beach, her long, pale hair matching the color of the sand as it dances on the wind, at times obscuring her face. But he doesn’t need to see her eyes to know how red they are. He’s seen them before. The memory of that scene, dawn breaking over a burned and blackened market, is still fresh in his mind. It’s the smoke from those fires - and many other fires - that still taints each breath he breathes.
The distance between them grows shorter with every step; he doesn’t need to turn towards her, it’s as if the very island is drawing them together, putting them on the same path. All she has to do is turn, and then they are facing one another.
The wind lifts the hair from her face just as her eyes open to meet his. For a moment they’re both silent, save for the sifting of sand around his hooves as he walks.
And when Ipomoea stops, all the beach crabs and sand pipers stop with him, circling about him on land and in the air, as restless as he is. He thinks, if he listens hard enough, he can hear the cry of a sea monster in the distance, as if asking him: Why did we stop? There’s work to be done, there’s gods to hunt. He has no answer for them.
”Have you come in search of the relic?” Her words breeze gently through his mind, over and over like a mantra. Empty space stretches between them as he looks at her and thinks.
Ipomoea is searching - but he also isn’t. There were many things he hoped to find here, and he would be happy even if he only found one. But he shortens his answer to something simpler, something easier to voice: "Yes."
He wasn’t the only one, he knew. The island was crawling with other horses, horses from all around Novus. Regardless of Court, regardless of their diverse backgrounds and dispositions, still they had come. Magic was irresistible like that.
"And you?" he asks softly, as the wind claws at their manes. "Are you hoping to find the relic?" Or was she looking for a god, for a silver king, for a monster?
Or was she simply here for the magic?
@Katniss | "speaks" | notes: text
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