Radahn cherished the rare few times he was able to leave the Summit. Even if it meant the careful eyes of his parents lingering in the background, unknown to him but ever-present. As content as he was to linger atop the world, closest to the stars and the sky, the world that stretched below his icy throne was equally as enthralling at such a young age. Thus, he'd departed early that morning, and by the time the sun had risen to its near-peak, he'd scrambled his way to the Pit.

An empty, unholy thing it was.

Immediately was he greeted with the smell of iron, splatters of blood forever imprinted on the dusty earth below. Little paws skidded against the sides of the dredge as he skirted deep into the battlefield, an unsettling feeling hanging in the electrifying air. Despite the day, clear and brilliant and bright, Radahn could not stave off the stormy unease that caused his fur to rise, his whiskers to twitch uncontrollably. There was death here—this he knew. And as he stood at its center, he could feel the wind whirl through the half-curled, sprouting furs of his mane, and smell the embodiment of death as it surrounded him.

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@Jazmin

JAZMIN

Being a princess is hard work, you know? Following apu around, making sure her smelly, dumb brothers were kept in line - and learning everything she could from her aunties. It’s a lot to do, really too much, but Jazmin does it all without complaint. Saintly little thing, isn’t she?

Sometimes, however, lessons are boring and apu naps and her brothers are more annoying than usual, and the little princess can’t help but need to get out of the confines of her home. The dark, cool hallways are entirely hers, and she knows them with her eyes shut. But there are moments she wants more - when she sees the bright, glowing light at the end of the cavernous darkness. Eventually, the temptation is just too much for Jazmin’s heart, and she gives in to it.

Her venturing brings her, eventually, to the scent of blood. She knows it intimately, and like some of her family, it smell isn’t off-putting, but rather, she likes it. Jazmin hurries along, her mitts carrying her easily over the stone of the arena until, finally, she stands in the middle of the pit. And there, when she looks up from the spatters of stale blood, she finds she isn’t alone.

He is bigger, fluffy, and odd looking. Jazmin knows only her own family and pride, and there’s never been a boy like this in the Hollows. The red of her eyes grows as she inspects him, clearing her throat as she’d seen her father do to get attention without raising his voice. Unfortunately, her attempt sounds more like a squeak than the low, thick baritone chuff Alexander makes.

"Who are you?" The little goddess demands, ears flicking forward through the tufts of fluffy, shaggy mane atop her head.

@Radahn

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He hadn't noticed her. When @Jazmin spoke, Radahn froze.

Who are you? she demands.

Radahn, he declares back, his wine-red gaze matching the vibrant crimson of hers.

Prince of the Summit, the Starseer, the Godstouched, the Carrion Prince.

Who are you? he demands back, taking a step closer toward her. Despite being taller, there is little merit to his imposing presence; she is younger, and any knowing adult could see she'd likely sprout into a larger, more athletic lioness than the scrawny, disheveled boy before her. But for now, the tables were turned onto his side, and for a boy who'd been beaten senseless by his brothers in playfighting time and time again, it were a fact he clung to desperately.

Gods on his side or not, nothing could stop the pin-pricks of those baby teeth in his neck, the suffocating feeling of their bellies atop his face, squishing him into the cold dirt.

As he ventured closer, he could smell the distinct scent of a pride; dusty, stale. And yet, the brilliance of her striped lilac pelt differed vastly from her musty smell, the brilliant sheen of cavern humidity glistening on her skin. His nose twitched, kinked whiskers accompanying the half-curious, half-annoyed expression on his face. Whoever she was—she were nothing like him.

Yet, perhaps, they were far more alike than he thought.

JAZMIN

She is given a weird name, one she’s never heard before. Before she can offer her opinion of it, he demands her own in return. @Radahn advances, and then again closer, and Jazmin’s ears flatten as quickly as they’d popped up before. Tiny, perfectly white milk teeth bare as her lips peel back. A kitten’s hiss works up her throat. But Jazmin refuses to give an inch and step back, even as her head tips up a fraction to keep hold of his muted eyes. That small little lift feels like staring up into the sky, and she hates it.

"Jazmin Savante," she answers proudly, puffing up like an arrogant little peacock. "Daughter of the Sovereign of Obsidian Hollows." It’s a mouthful to announce, and she takes her time to carefully say each word, her mouth still learning to listen to her sometimes stumbles and twists things, and she refuses to allow such a mistake now.

He is staring, and she can feel it, and so her only response is to stare right back - her eyes sting and water, but she does not look away. He’s as funny looking as his name is weird, and Jazmin doesn’t know what to make of it. He smells like - something. Like pine, like cold.

"You -" she says, struggling to fill the silence and needing to, "live here?" Her face twists into a wrinkled frown, and she inhales the stale blood once again. No, no one lives here. They die here, though.

coded by flea

She is defensive, feisty, and Radahn's first instinct causes him to stiffen, to stop in his tracks. Brutal and cunning as he is, he knows he is weak, and had taken enough beatings from his larger brothers to know he was never built to fight. Yet, nothing could quite waver the steeled expression bore across his face. The tipping of her chin upwards stifles a small smirk that threatened to curl his lips upward, eyes widening just a slight. He hadn't realize what a thrill it were when someone finally had to look up to him. He couldn't describe the intoxicating high, the flutter of his heart in his chest.

Jazmin Savante, she says, Daughter of the Sovereign of Obsidian Hollows.

A Princess? he inquires, lifting a boyish brow.

Radahn appeared to have a knack for happening upon the daughters of Kings and Queens, it seemed. Each of them just as frustrating and grating as the last. Yet, she does not break her stare, she does not gnash her teeth like Faustine does. They linger in that tense silence, once Radahn is not keen on breaking, the background of the Pit surrounding them blurred as his eyes focused only on hers. This were a battle Radahn could fight. Eventually, @Jazmin breaks it.

You—live here?

A sudden burst of laughter interrupts his once-steeled facade, the scratchiness of a raw throat mixed with his cub-like tenor. No, he finally says, lowering himself onto his rump; a truce, somewhat, that he would encroach on her no further. I'm a Prince of the North, I live in the Summit where my Queenmothers rule.

A princess?

It’s nice to be recognised for how important she is. Jazmin lifts her head a little, chin sticking up in the air before she nods just once. But then -

Then he laughs at her question.

It's a surprise to see any emotion at all cross his stoic face, and Jazmin stares for just a moment. It gives him enough time to sit, enough time to explain himself. @Radahn declares himself a prince of the north, of the summit - wherever that is; Jazmin quickly decides it's a stupid place for stupid boys.

"It’s not funny," she pouts, her fragile pride greatly wounded by this older boy finding her and her question amusing. Shame warms her cheeks, makes her hot right down her neck, and under her vain attempt at hiding how her eyes water, Jazmin is horribly embarrassed. "You shouldn’t laugh, I’m not just a princess." Desperate to be better than her counterpart, Jazmin brings herself to her miniscule full height and stares the princeling down. "I was given to my fathers by the Mother." As such, that makes her better, thank you very much.

code by corvus

It's not funny, she insists, but Radahn feels little remorse for the crude way in which he'd mocked her. Though he cannot feel the embarrassment lingering within her, he can feel the slight heat, and wonders if it is from anger instead. A boyish brow lifts, once more taking a step closer, as if that emotion may very well step from her skin and reveal itself to him were he to pry in such an uncouth manner. However, just as he begins to near, @Jazmin rises to her full height, and despite their stark difference in age (at such a young period of their lives, when it mattered so much), she stands nearly above him. Radahn shirks, but does not let it show in his eyes, cruelly reminded of the way his brothers and sisters stand so sheerly over him. Only Lavender is close to his height, and she is all things girlish and delicate.

The Mother? he demands, his nose crinkling. At first, it had made perfect sense: he'd been given to Eyvindr and Morrigan by Talisa, who was mother to him as well. Perhaps Jazmin were in a similar circumstance. But why, then, would this Mother be so important? If her father were a King, who could be above him, but a God? His wine-red eyes narrowed slightly, tail flicking out behind him, the few scraggly strands of a mane yet to come in falling into his face. Who is that?

It is a battle of wills and neither royal is willing to bend first. @Radahn slinks closer, and Jazmin clenches her tiny paws, digging her claws into the bloodied soil, to make sure she does not back up. While entirely sure she is untouchable, something very like fear creeps up her throat, cold and slimy, and she swallows it back down when he seems distracted by her announcement.

"My family’s goddess." Jazmin responds proudly, having just recently learned that other families - and kingdoms - have their own gods. Obviously, the Mother is the best one. There’s no doubt to Jazmin that she is nothing but a gift - meant for great things. "She gave me to my fathers after my mother had my siblings."

Bringing her point back, the princess continues, "so you shouldn’t laugh at me." She barely refrains from adding or She will smite you because, well, it doesn’t work like that. Not that a stupid boy from the stupid Summit would know that.

"You should say sorry."

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She does not shirk, she does not back away. Radahn is not imposing in a traditional sense; he is neither powerful nor frightening. But there is a honed energy about him, a rage tempered and locked away behind wine-red eyes, a ferocity kindling deep inside a soul that believed itself more powerful than it should. Piercing, narrowed eyes bear down into the deeper crimson of @Jazmin's own, desperate to find that fear that lingered within them; but they were held close, and he could see only his reflection in the shimmer of her gaze.

He'd known the existence of multiple Gods. His father's own beliefs confirmed as such; and Radahn had come to worship Vellen as much as he'd worshipped his own. He had never touched them, he had never seen them, he did not know if the throne of the Gods laid empty or full. This Mother were simply another one of them, and Radahn was soon beginning to believe that the divine were not so secretive and elusive as he thought.

Many lions had many Gods. But Radahn was the speaker for all of them.

She were godstouched, too. She'd been carved by the careful fingers of the Mother and placed upon the earth by her hands. I will only apologize to Her, he retorts in response, lifting his chin up, turning the tip of his nose slightly skyward, Not to the girl she'd carved from her rib.

His denial is evident, quick - and Jazmin glares. She, the daughter of the Goddess, is worth more than some stupid, overgrown boy’s apology. Yet, she still wants it. That he doesn’t bow down grinds against her nerves, like nails on stone. Her baby face twists into a grimace. Unsure how exactly to proceed, she struggles. Fighting him is an impulse she wants to give in to, but she’s never had a real fight before. Squabbles with her siblings don’t count.

"Then you will." She finally manages to snap after reigning herself in. Oh, she wants to beat him up. She will. Just… not until she’s sure she can win. The very idea of embarrassing herself is horrifying. Now she just needs to find out how to get the Mother to appear before this stupid boy and put him in his place.

… she might have to ask her father, or her aunt.

So without explaining any of that, Jazmin turns sharply (as sharply as an uncoordinated cub can) on her paws and beelines for home. She’ll show him. Stupid boy.

Exit.

code by corvus