After a further few weeks of travelling and grudges festering, they now camped only a day's ride away from the Capital by a lakeside. Stolas' priority became relaxing and his eyes followed the forest until it petered off into water. The cool breeze carried the scent of damp earth and the gentle rustling of leaves. The night sky alive with stars twinkling overhead, while the soft glow of the blood moon illuminated the rippling waters below in crimson light. The lake itself was a perfect mirror, reflecting the beauty of the celestial event above. The water so still that the surface seemed almost solid, as if he could walk across it like a sheet of glass. The gentle lapping of the water against the shore created a peaceful rhythm that soothed the soul.
He toyed with the fear that the water would be too cold, but ultimately gave in as he could already smell himself and his nose scrunched up in displeasure. Announcing his leave to the others, Stolas found a sheltered area and undressed. Already gaining goosebumps across his body, he tentatively dipped in a toe. Freezing. Steeling himself and imagining a hot spring in his mind, he slowly walked further out until the water reached up to his waist. His mind slowly drifted to a sense of calm and focus.
Throughout the last few weeks, Stolas spent the entirety of it studying the growing drake to the best of his ability. Now, he felt almost comfortable enough to create his first skeletal designs, but kept putting off the inevitable. Although inside he knew better, Stolas thought that maybe, maybe, he could try without cutting the poor creature apart.
Stolas floated onto his back and turned to the white canvas in his mind. Piece by piece he constructed a skeleton out of everything he knew of dragons, and every other creature he would make, then, rather ambitiously, added muscle, tendons, sinew, organs, fat, skin, scales and feathers. Finally, a soul. For this, he dared look introspectively. So far to the world's knowledge, only dragons and himself possessed the ability to harm the fallen. Unlike the rest, where he toiled day and night to learn the anatomy of what made up a physical being, the creation of a soul always came to him innately. With each one, he would create it with the feeling of happiness gained in his best memories. Not to go so far as to endow the soul with these memories, merely the joy, as a mercy.
Stolas raised his hand from the water and clenched it. Just as he was about to release, a low, echoing growl, wrenched him from his focus and sent him vaulting upright. With wet hair clinging to his face and droplets clinging to his skin, he could not help but feel the strings of water wrapped around his chest turned into binding, ice cold ropes that held him in place as he searched the shoreline.
"Caine!" he cried out at the top of his lungs. "There's something…watching me." His voice trailed off as he saw a pair of glowing golden eyes shining through the leaves not ten feet away. His heart practically stopped as it occurred to him. That brightness was not the shielded kind that lurked behind the Power's shadowed visors, or the complete darkness below Michaeas' mesh mask. This angel that pierced through him with its watchful gaze, wore nothing of the sort. A wave of killing intent carried by a deafening cry hit him with forceful impact sending him flying further out into the lake. Stolas gasped as he breathed in a lungful of water and his chest ached from the hit. As he clawed his way to the surface of the lake, amongst all the horrid thoughts he realised, this was the same haunting howl that hit Caine, Abel and his father. The creature they faced that day was a Dominion.
Deafened by the water, the sounds of shouting rattled his ears the moment he surfaced. On the shore, Caine, Kalou and Éirean cried his name. Stolas' eyes widened.
They remained unharmed. There was nothing there. The Dominion disappeared into the night and did nothing.
Still panting and coughing, Stolas placed his hand on his bruised chest and confirmed to himself what he saw indeed occurred. Through his chest, his heart beat so fast he could not deny it. Although disturbed, confusion reared its head and overtook his emotions.
"Why?" he whispered to himself.
"Taunting," Michaeas answered. Stolas jumped nearly halfway out of his skin and splashed backwards. To his right, Michaeas approached in the water. His fair hair clung to his face, the water like diamonds making it shine even brighter and take on a rosy quality in the red moonlight. His shirt clung to his wet skin, becoming slightly see through. Stolas could not help but stare. The angel paused, looking for the right word, and followed up with "Sorry." for startling him. Stolas replied with a cough intermingled with a coy laugh.
"Ah, Micha." he said in a wavering voice. "Its-" but just as he was about to relay his forgiveness the words halted on the tip of his tongue and the blood drained from his face as he remembered: he was wearing absolutely nothing right now. "Stop! Do not come any closer." The angel stopped immediately, feeling the urgency in his voice. Although a slight crease formed on his forehead, damaging his usual blank expression. He almost seemed…hurt.
"Balit el, I will not harm."
"I can- I can swim back myself, thank you." He mumbled, turning away his red face. He prayed silently it would not show under the light, and took off full speed towards the shore.
Removing himself from the water he quickly fashioned himself a pelt to wrap around his waist.
"Are you alright?" Said Caine as they ran up to him. "Did you see where it went?"
"No. It was…taunting me. Caine, the reinforcements have found us."
"They are playing with us." he spoke solemnly, bringing his hands to his head. "Dammit, they are just showing that they can get to you any time they like."
"I agree," Huffed Kalou. "I've even used this tactic before. You remember right?" Éirean took on a complicated expression. Kalou approached Stolas and looked him over, with a nod he ordered Éirean to give him his cloak, which Stolas gladly accepted. He let the silence drag on, before he turned to his brother and in this moment betrayed all pretence that he was the man Stolas wished him to be. "My men and I, we were hunting a group of Galdrian soldiers who were transporting the injured King back to the palace. Once we found them, we did not attack them right away. We watched and tracked them in silence." he took a breath, and Stolas saw the shame in his eyes. "Then, we started to periodically take a soldier that strayed too far, and send his head rolling into their camp a day later. One after the other - for weeks - we picked them off, and it got to a point where their strength as men collapsed under the paranoia. They regressed into beasts and destroyed themselves, killing the King just to make it stop. They were weak, and so we accepted their offering of the King's head… and slaughtered them all." he paused. "As for us, this could be a good thing, because it means there could be less of them, or at least they are afraid of us. Something that puts them at a disadvantage. Although, this intimidation is just the beginning."
"It is that Dominion," said Caine. "I know it. I remember that howling strike from the night that my brother died."
"It is not him." said Michaeas who stood away at the water's edge. "He is dead." Caine's temperament shifted to one of utter rage. He tried to stifle it, but his teeth grated against one another and his veins bulged in his head. His green eyes became thunderous and his gaze settled on the forest. No words left his mouth but everyone shrunk back as the air around them grew colder.
Distracted, Kalou frowned, and pointed to an orange glow coming from near the road.
"What is that?" Éirean suddenly cursed.
"The carriage!"
The five of them raced back to the road and were blasted with sudden heat. As the carriage burned, the flames consumed it hungrily, devouring the wooden frame and the leather seats. The heat was intense, causing the air to shimmer and dance. Smoke billowed up into the sky, staining the red canvas with a thick, black cloud. They watched in awe and horror as the flames grew stronger. The carriage began to crumble, collapsing in on itself as the heat weakened its structure. The wheels fell off first, rolling away from the blaze in a shower of sparks. Then the roof started to cave in, sending a shower of embers into the air. Behind it, the horses lay limp with their throats slashed. Stolas unconsciously brought his hand to his mouth in shock.
A blur ran inside, and Michaeas came back into focus on the ground, holding in his hand the dragon's scorched lantern and the drake clinging to his back. A crack formed in one of them.
"They took the horses first." Kalou spat.
The group immediately grabbed what they could and left for the capital of Lohur. The company broke into groups. Caine walked ahead alone, complicated emotions swirled around in his mind, rendering him antisocial. Kalou and Éirean spoke of their time in the war a few metres behind, and Stolas found himself questioning the angel that walked beside him sopping wet. With everything going on he paid him little attention, but concern creased his brow as the water seemed to turn into ice on his skin, the hair around his face hard with tiny crystals. Yet, Michaeas' face remained unbothered, looking blankly ahead until he noticed Stolas' eyes lingering. The angel opened his mouth to say something, but stopped halfway, making a dejected hum in the back of his throat instead.
Stolas lowered and relaxed his eyes. The ground lost focus until it became a blurry mess, fading into white nothingness.
"Micha, stop." he mumbled, barely moving his lips. Michaeas halted abruptly, sending up a plume of dust. Stolas blinked and in his hands appeared a very large and very heavy leather coat. It was not exactly fashionable, nor very well made as this was his first attempt at genuine clothing. The coat had no seams and was one whole lump of raw leather melded together with wool. He avoided Michaeas' gaze as he asked him to remove his wet shirt that bled water into his old coat and cloak. The angel hesitated, but upon seeing Stolas' closed eyes behind a thick curtain of lashes, he stripped down, leaving his top half bare.
Out of respect, Stolas dared not open his eyes as he handed the angel his coat, yet every fibre of his being bullied his mind into doing just that. His head spun with thoughts at what the anatomy would look like. He imagined hundreds of variables; bizarre, beautiful and brazen images flashed in his mind and the tips of his ears turned red. I just hope it fits, he thought.
"Thank you, Balit el." Stolas' eyes fluttered open. Of course, it suited him. Michaeas let down his long braid for his hair to dry, the thick strands travelling down, clinging to his coat, and his pointy ears peeking through. Although Stolas did not notice, he kept the hair ribbon the prince gave him and tucked it into his pocket. "Warm."
The others travelled far ahead now, leaving them both. For some reason, Stolas felt a growing confidence in his chest as the pair set off again. He used the darkness as a shield for the embarrassed and fearful expression illustrated on his face as he grazed the angel's fingers with his own.
"Why is your skin always so cold?"
Michaeas continued to look forward without moving his face at all.
"Ge geh tol…cold" he said in a matter of fact tone. Stolas pieced the words together in his mind and came up blank, although from context, he gathered Michaeas' icy touch to be a common thing. He retreated his hand to his own personal pockets and took a very deep breath.
"Why did you say that Ascha made me?" The muscle in Michaeas' jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. Stolas's skin prickled as Michaeas faced him. He pointed to the thin black line on his cheek with one hand and held his shoulder with the other.
"You hurt me."
"Is that why you agreed to the truce? Curiosity?"
"Hmn," He affirmed.
"Me too," said Stolas quietly. "I am sorry for hurting you. I was scared, my entire impression of your kind was one given to me by the men who influence me the most." Michaeas did not understand anymore than 'sorry', but that was all Stolas cared about getting across, except… "I would be happy if we could be friends, for now."
"Friend…" muttered Michaeas. He reached for his notebook but realised it had burned alongside everything else. His hand hovered in the hair while he tried to remember what the word meant. "Zorge? Balit el, ca ah zorge?" Stolas smiled a half crooked smile, the limp end unsure of what he was agreeing to, and held out his hand. He hoped he would take it this time.
Michaeas looked down at the man in front of him and prepared to turn him away, but he felt the warmth of the wool around his chest and the silky softness of the ribbon in his pocket. He thought about the name he very quickly started responding to. "Friends." He said in a cool voice, shaking his weak hand. Although a trace concern bloomed in his mind as he wondered; Am I getting too close?