⎯⎯ ♔ ⎯⎯

Drip...

Drip...
 
Drip...

Droplets continued to fall, each one cool and persistent, beading on the fur of his face until Warwick’s eyes fluttered. The soft, rhythmic patter of water against his face slowly pulled him from the depths of unconsciousness.

Drip...
     
Drip...

The weeping trees above continued to gently coax him out of his deep sleep. He flinched at the sensation, opening his eyes. It finally roused him. His senses sluggishly awakening to the quiet symphony of the forest and the stark screaming of his aching body. His muscles, toned by years of training and relentless pursuit of strength, ached as though they had been tested beyond their limits.

He tensed at the pain, his mind burrowing until it gave no rhyme or reason to explain the ache in his body nor the disorientation in his soul. His thoughts spiralled, searching for an anchor, but found only fragments. Pieces of memories of a kingdom that was no more, the warm scent of his mother’s presence now absent, the echoes of his duty fading into the silence of this unfamiliar place.

The water dripped once more from above, cold against his fur, but it did little to shake him from the paralysis of his uncertainty.

Warwick shifted, easing himself up to take in the surroundings. Tall, ancient trees with gnarled roots twisted like serpents beside him, their bark was dark with age and slick with moisture. The undergrowth was thick, tangled with vines and ferns. There was a faint murmur of a stream filtering through the air, the sound of water gently lapping against smooth stones, offering a sense of peace amidst the eerie silence. But there was an unsettling stillness to the area. It was absent of the distant cries of elk and the familiar scents of his home.

The wind barely moved, and the forest seemed to hold its breath as if watching him... waiting.

He finally rose, and despite the confusion swirling around him like a storm he couldn’t chase away, there was something within him, a flicker of his old resolve, that urged him to move. But as he did, the world spun, his vision blurring, but he steadied himself, pushing through the fog that clouded his mind.

Where am I?

Warwick felt untethered from everything he had ever known. And though he had no kingdom, no family by his side, he still had his faith. And with it, perhaps, he could find his way. Tilting his head to the sky, the words of his prayer slipped from his lips in a soft, fervent murmur. As he finished, he felt a spark of strength ignite deep within him.

He would not falter.

He would find his path.

⎯⎯ ♔ ⎯⎯

---

Perseus had been dormant, reclused from the outside world of… the birds had whispered the name Mythris. He couldn’t grasp where it had started, but it seemed he had finally found a name for this hell that his God had placed him in. The fallen’s gaze drew toward the heavens, watching the ending of the rain gently peddle along the branches of the trees. Beads of water move slowly to the ends, before breaking and settling to the earth below. Shifting his weight, it seemed as though the warmer climate of the swamp lands did not allow snow to fall in this region. Instead, it had become a sopping mess of mud that clung between the fur of his paws and legs.

His memories of meeting another were from several moons ago, a man… one who had survived the curse of the caverns. That was the last he had spoken to another being in this realm. A growl developed from his chest, had he been so pathetic as to keep hiding his face from others? No. No longer would he await for his chances in the shadows. The man would delve into this world with the chaos he had built in heaven.

The man would chuckle to himself, thinking of all the sins he could plague this land in. He would make sure they would worship him, they would tremble at the sound of his voice. Pushing further into the pit of the wetlands, he would soon come across another.

A man of deep bark browns drew his attention, he seemed confused. Stumbling around like he had just awoken from a long slumber. He had remembered falling from heaven and landing in a powdered mess of snow. The only remnants of his past were the scars along his shoulder blades where his wings were plucked from.

Perhaps, Perseus would not scare him off too quickly. Maybe he could manipulate the man into doing something for him. Maybe he could lead him to others to punish, “You look lost.” He pestered, perking his ears as he steered his body in the other’s direction, “Are you?”

---

⎯⎯ ♔ ⎯⎯

Warwick stood tall as the lingering fog of his long slumber dissipated, leaving behind the remnants of confusion that had once clouded his senses. His legs, though unsteady at first, grew firm beneath him as the sharp, searing pain that had gripped his muscles faded. The slow, deliberate thrum of his pulse was steady, grounding him. With every breath he drew, a quiet warmth unfurled in his chest, like a hearth rekindling in the midst of winter.

Though disoriented by the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, Warwick sensed, deep in the marrow of his bones, that he was no longer adrift in peril. This place did not seem to seek his harm.

And then, from the stillness of the forest, came a voice, low and casual, threading through the quiet. You look lost...
The words floated toward him, heavy with something Warwick couldn’t quite place. Instinctively, his body stiffened, his posture becoming even more taut as he turned toward the speaker. The figure before him stood with the subtle confidence of one who knew their place in the world. His eyes, sharp and calculating, fixed on Warwick as though he were a puzzle to be solved.

Warwick’s own eyes narrowed, amber-hued and watchful, catching the pale slivers of light that filtered through the canopy above. His fur, a rich russet, gleamed faintly, the warmth of it accentuating the cool shadows of the forest around them. The royal studied him fleetingly. The stranger exuded a sense of purpose, but there was a hunger in his gaze, a subtle thirst for something that Warwick couldn’t quite decipher yet.

He took a slow breath, and as he exhaled, the familiar burn of authority began to coil in his chest. Warwick had been a king once. He may have fallen from that throne, but the core of who he was, the essence of his authority, remained unbroken. He had ruled with measured decisions, with an awareness of every movement. The stranger before him might think him weak, disoriented, but Warwick’s mind was already working faster than the other could likely keep up with.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Warwick’s lips, half amusement, half challenge. “Lost? No. Just... trying to make sense of things” he replied, his voice rich and low. He wasn’t the same broken soul that had once been lost in the darkness. No, this was a king who still held dominion over his fate, who would carve his path, no matter how far he’d strayed from The Elks Crown. "But tell me, what's your stake in this land?".

⎯⎯ ♔ ⎯⎯