[AW] monument to a memory

[Basileios]

But you had to have him, and so you did // Some things you let go in order to live

There is a wistful longing in the air and in the way the sandy streets raise up longingly beneath Basileios' cloven hooves; the kiss of spring sun glinting down through the hazy, wind-bitten clouds, a touch of sun despite the severe weather. It aches of a return to normalcy and, like the weather, they find themselves lingering beneath archways with their eyes drifting over lovers and friends alike. Their shadow has been missing since their family's slaughter and is it not their father or mother's absence that leaves them wanting.

They haunt the liminal spaces of the Day Court, a ghost dressed in gold, but there are no spirits within sight, no longing gazes to be met and challenged. The shackles are gone— but so is their playmate.

The Colosseum rises before and betwixt them, a prodigious monument to both Solis' power and the hubris of the Old Regime. Their skin shudders in agony as they step into the sandy stands; how many times had they been forced to watch from the nobles' boxes as the stallion they loved scrabbled against foes to ensure his survival? Basil tipped their muzzle low, arching their neck as if to bear the weight of their lived experiences.

There were no shadows to be found here, only long-buried memories best left to the sands of Time itself. And yet— a glimmer against the far column, a flash of hooves. Basil tenses, takes a step forward, and hesitates, expression blossoming with undisguised yearning and a foalish hopefulness. They are torn between calling out and remaining silent, fearing their eyes are mistaken and wishing fervently they are not.

Finally, steps so flighty they seem to skim the ground, they slip after the elusive figure.

[Teiran]

i'm meaner than my demons, i'm bigger than these bones Teiran had not set foot in the Colosseum since the day Solis had seemingly wished it into being what seemed like years ago. One moment there had been only the cliffs towering over the canyon floor and then there was this. A structure so strong, so enduring, forged from sand and stone. If there was a better analogy for the citizens of Solterra she did not know one. Another thing Teiran had yet to do was fight here, to sharpen her blade on a stone and spill blood with it in this arena. So much had happened between then and today, and she had been too busy performing her duties to have fun. If one could call it fun. It was probably as close as the warrior would ever get to such a thing. Her sage green eyes were focused on the arena floor as she ringed it with her body, her steps carrying her past columns and stands. What she sees is empty cages, empty risers and yet that is an anticipation in her, as if a battle was about to begin. As if she can see it playing out in front of her. Then the sound of steps not her own reach her ears. Suddenly Teiran is a warrior again, a soldier, and her eyes are sharper than any knife. She snakes her way around, slipping between shadows like they are a second skin. She is quiet like a stalking cat and her muscles roll beneath her skin like the sand dunes of the Mors. There is nothing mechanical about her in that moment—she is only deadly grace. When she finally spies a shape moving through the Colosseum her plan is to move up behind them, though whether they see her or not now no longer matters. When she is close enough Teiran stops and lifts her head and the sunlight glints off the silver collar at her neck. "Why are you following me?" "Speaking."

@Basileios