KASIL
He had put a man to death once.
He had not intended that outcome-- just a child in the eyes of society, but Ivanskir had seen to it that his grandson's order was upheld. A thief, and a repetitive one. The Mark of Sin had been prominent on his chest and he had defiantly looked into the eyes of the law without a care in the world. Kasil could still see those eyes in his dreams at night, glaring harshly down at him as if to blame him for his untimely death. His grandfather had called him out from the sideline of the court, his yearling fuzz just beginning to shed into the sleek sheen of adulthood -- and asked Kasil what he thought should be done in accordance with their laws.
This man, he explained, had been caught three times for stealing from his fellow court members and justice had yet to be determined. The boy had considered all that he had learned at the heel of his grandfather and of that which he had learned in the sage's libraries. When he opened his mouth and recited the correct answer, it was as swift as anything he had ever seen. One moment he was a timid voice, urged to speak and the next there was a great howling as the thief was dragged from the court in chains. Later, he would be forced to attend the execution and meet the eyes of a child no older than he, the daughter of the thief that he had been stealing to provide for.
Her face stood out to him even now, in his memory.
A snapping branch, caught his mind in a way that forced him to let go of that memory. The King of Delumine turned his head slowly, the golden diadem glinting in the light that could barely seep through the leaves that had been thinned by autumn's turn. Dusk was settling upon the lands, daylight delivered from Solis' hands into Vespera's gentle embrace. Sometimes Kasil mused that Oriens and Vespera were twins, thus why their two pieces of the day were both so short and equally as glorious. It would make sense to him, but he had read nothing of it in the Dawn Libraries so he could not confirm. Perhaps if he were ever lucky enough to meet a god, he might ask just to satisfy his own curiosity. His ears twisted towards the sound of the snapping branch, his eyes sharp in the dying light. He was grateful for the distraction from his melancholy thoughts, so consumed by his responsibilities and their weight that he could use an intervention -- even a dangerous one.
The Sovereign unfurled the wings painted in rich swatches of mahogany, the tips of the velveteen feathers brushing the ground as he prepared for whatever was to come.
First dibs to @Somnus and/or @Ipomoea
coding by Avis
