Solanis
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE YOUNG MAN'S HEART? SWALLOWED BY PAIN AS HE SLOWLY FELL APART Most of the Rift's forests feel safe in their familiarity; Volterra can lose himself in their depths and pretend he is still in Helovia, as long as he ignores the terrifying new flora and fauna. This forest, though, is completely different to any he's encountered either here or in Helovia, shattering any illusion that he has managed to hold onto. He's never seen ferns so large that they tower above even a man of his great size, or plants so bright they feel like they're burning his corneas out. Vadir's massive wings cast a shadow across the titan's broad back as he walks through this eerie new forest, his ears rammed forwards and his muscles tense in readiness for anything that might jump out of the overlarge undergrowth at him. This is not home. The stallion knows this, try as he might to ignore it. Although he is a pillar of strength and fortitude for his family, matter-of-fact and stern as he leads them into this brave new world, when he's on his own he finds his resolve crumbling. He finds himself living in hope, embracing the naiivety that he desperately clings onto - the idea that this is only temporary, that Helovia is just on the other side of the portal, and that he will be able to return there one day. There's the fact he still hasn't grieved for Isopia, either - is it denial, or merely an unwillingness to admit weakness in the form of letting himself crumble? Volterra is self-aware enough to understand that the reality of her death will almost crush him when he finally allows himself to accept the truth and mourn her, and he simply hasn't had the time to schedule in an emotional breakdown. He carries around the golem he's made in her likeness; an effigy, a monument. He keeps it close to him at all times, protecting it like he would a child. It's next to him as he explores this strange new land, walking woodenly through the grass. Unlike most of his creations, this one has lasted longer than a few seconds, but it's desperately fragile and far too small to be of any use in battle - the warlord has no intention on using it in such a way, as he crafted it purely so he can always have a piece of his love with him. He talks to it often, but always in a hushed voice so as to avoid detection. Whatever would his family or the Helovian populace think if they were to discover Volterra - indomitable warlord, fiery Sultan, dragon-lord, the embodiment of earthen strength and stoic ferocity - talking to a living statue of his dead lover? In the depths of this creepily bright forest, he feels safe enough to lift his voice slightly. "What do you think, kis hollo?" he rumbles to the statue, lowering his mighty skull so as to nudge it affectionately. It's too small, hard, stony and lava-filled to truly allow him to think of Isopia when he touches it, but his imagination is a wonderful thing and he can almost picture her alongside him, no doubt offering an intelligent insight into this land's odd ferns and yellow flowers. "What would you think of all of this, I wonder?" It's a painful reminder that he'll never find out. There's a sting in his eyes; that strong, stoic face of his crumples slightly into a frown as he bites back the tears that burn in his throat. He will not let them fall; it's too soon for such an admission of weakness, even if there's nobody around to see it but Vadir. |
