The small child— Ouros rouses with great difficulty, sucking in a sharp breath while he gets shaken ruthlessly.
"S-stop," he croaks. The voice is softer than the one that Sol recalls, more youthful. "If I die…here…you might as well be going in blind!"
"…" Sol stops shaking him once he begins to speak. Ouros in his child form is quite small and fragile, looking to be about seven years in age. His body is thin and his black hair falls around his chin, eyes bright blue. He wears similar robes to the angels, and they are black, with beautiful blue embroidered.
He is not an angel, Sol realizes, but a minor god of sorts. Another one of Nox's children, no doubt. They all are.
After he recovers from his initial state, Ouros glares at him hatefully. "Why don't you take a look around first before you start drilling me with questions."
