Though Helios was a relic of an outdated regime, he believed in the new Solterra. A Solterra where those with collars encircling their neck did not have to gaze at the ground when they passed the nobles. A Solterra where servants and farmers were just as important as council members and soldiers. So he did not dip his burnt umber gaze from those gleaming emeralds, not even when he found their intensity both uncomfortable and difficult to depart from.
The ebony man’s question is not unexpected, even if it falls from his tongue a few seconds after his dismissive grunt. Why did Helios’ keep it? He didn’t need to remove it to know that he’d feel naked with the cool metal against his skin, the ever present silver that had encircled his throat for as far back as he could remember. But it wasn’t a fear of feeling unclothed that kept the collar at his neck, nor was it enjoyment of the looks of fear and pity that graced those around him. Were he to take it off the russet steed might find himself suddenly more popular, without the metal marking him as a slave those still beholden to the draconic views on slavery might actually see him for once. No. It was none of those things. It was because, deep down Helios had convinced himself that the cruelty and barbarity shown to him was necessary. That the collar surrounding his neck was a sign of his patronage, his promise to Solis and the people of Solterra. To Helios it was a reminder of all that he was and all that he had become, the oath of his servitude. “Maybe it serves me well that the upper class underestimates and overlooks me because of it.” It was a lie told from a steady tongue but it was a point. He was slave no more and should he so desired, were it not to go against every fibre of his being, he could gather those also made invisible by their collars and overthrow the rich and noble houses who saw them as nothing. But revolution of that kind was not in his nature. He was a patron of the Triskevma, intent upon seeing Solterra weather whatever storms followed each new Royal.
Though he stiffens at the shadowy steed’s closeness, Helios does not move, does not back down. He is not one for parades of strength, for peacocking or inciting attention, but the way the stallion neared him, the almost haughty carriage of his slick form- it reminded him of darker times and a difficult past.
“There is a girl begging in the street, I was going to give them to her.” He voice is a little more edged than he intended, forced between teeth clamped shut in frustration. “I intend to pay for them,” he added a little lamely, but at least this time the words do not sound so forced.
@Corradh <3
