This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of child abuse, slavery, depression/trauma and violence

Existence is pain, this is the only truth that young Eridanus Zero knows.

It’s a truth passed from his forefathers, destroyed by battle or sickness or other banes of existence. It had passed swiftly from the lips of his own war-hardened father, caustic remarks about the worthiness of his heir to bare the suffering of the universe. Sunadire Zero, proud warrior, winner of battles and bearer of big sticks and few carrots, knew the world was a broken bone.

Pain was something Master had taught him in the past months, marked and beaten until he bent the knee. They started by telling him not to speak. His throat feels rusted over with cobwebs, words he’s not used in many moons lost perhaps forever. They told him then not to look, to stare downward. Each upward tick of his head was met with harsh claws in his nose, a threat to make him regret every cowardly breath. Eventually, the sky lost all appeal. If he keeps his breathing quiet and keeps his eyes down and does what Master says, he can eat a somber meal and drink a sip of cool water and be left with simple emptiness instead of pain. It’s a structure he’s come to prefer, as a broken boy in a world far bigger than he can ever hope to be.

Here he is, a silent beast hobbling into foreign land, his gaze cast downward. It’s hard to piece together events. All he knows is his paw pads and nose are cracked and burned, his fur singed severely in some places. He smells of fire and death, like the souls of so many who had burned around him. It is strange that he has survived of all things. Perhaps it is that his only living trait is the heart still in his chest, growing fainter by the minute.

But Master had said run as he had burned, and Eridanus runs still. Until his legs collapse, bringing his darkened body to the ground. He is silent, as if he is not even there. A secret in the stand, stolen away and fading in the dark of night. His chest heaves slowly, softly. His eyelids flutter, so heavy for a boy so young, and yet so ready for the restfulness that only sleep offers.

Trips to the passage were getting to be more routine for the mauve lion. At least the trip was not as long as it had been from the Rainforest, nor even from the Mire. Obsidian was a quick hop and skip away from the passage, and so Roan found it more appealing to take the trip a little more often. It was just another day when he wandered through the expanse that the sandbar offered today. That is, until he spotted something dark in the distance. A blip along the horizon, unmoving, which only rose concern within his chest. It seemed too small to think it simply an idling rogue, and so the Hodari picked up his pace to investigate.

It was not just the scent of a rogue that hit his nostrils as Roan pressed on, but the unsavory scent of something foreign. He'd never seen fire before, and so never knew the scent of burning fur and flesh, but that was exactly what was assaulting his senses. The sight was hardly any better. A beaten and battered child. "Hey!" he called as the mauve lion moved forward. "Kid! Can you hear me?" Roan would go so far as to try and nudge the sleeping beast with the tip of his muzzle. Please don't be dead.

@Eridanus

Table & Image by Amanda | Background | Lineart

Yet another day at the passage to grow the pride, to bring another soul home to Firnen's ranks. His path is absently following the trail of a familiar face. Roan. They have not spoken since Sangria. Perhaps he is looking for that now, looking for a fight, a claim, but that is not what is in Roarke's mind when he watches @Roan dart forward, and the scent of burning invades his nose and lungs.

Without thought, Roarke rushes toward the pair. Where Roan hesitates, the dragon does not. He has seen burns, seen fire, and he knows it's danger. The broken boy is singed and frail, but not dead. Not yet. Just because @Eridanus is out of the flame it does not mean he is safe. "Roan," he speaks quickly to the other lion as he bends down to attempt to pick up the boy by the scruff. "He needs water and a medic. Is your pride closer than Firnen?" He has no idea what has become of Roan, but he smells of a pride, and that is enough for now.

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of child abuse, slavery, depression/trauma and violence

By the minute he grows wearier, body sinking into the ground below him. He wonders if it’s possible to fall through to the center, wonders if the center of the earth had come up to claim him and his Master. Perhaps then this pain is inevitable, and he should embrace it. His breathing grows rugged, sharp, and a fierce cough leaves his tongue tasting of burning smoke.

He is in too much pain to regard his surroundings, until feet come within his view. Immediately the boy tenses. Master he thinks, as he struggles and thrashes, wheezing as he pulls himself to a seated position, bowing his head. He looks at the stranger’s feet- they are unfamiliar, mauve. Not ashen. But Eridanus had seen Master burn alive, and perhaps this is the victor of that battle, the spirit of the flames come to claim him. He knows he is forbidden to speak, forbidden to look, but he hopes this new Master will forgive him in introduction. “M-master,” he croaks as he collapses.

Another comes and touches him and he flinches, yelping and screaming. In his mind this must be his new master’s servant, ready to punish him for the vile act of speaking. I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t do anything wrong, I’m sorry I’m sorry he yells in his head, trying his best to lay low and go limp. That was the best option for punishment, but Eridanus already hurts so much. How could he possibly bare another punishment now? Panic seeps through his body and he breathes heavily, eyes wide and unseeing. Look down, don’t talk, do as you’re told he repeats to himself, willing away any fiber of resistance. If he can slip, dissociate, perhaps this punishment will end quickly.

He just wants to feel the coolness of water on his rugged throat, the feeling of something in his empty belly. He knows he does not deserve it – he has spoken, and he has failed to bow properly, and then he resisted his own punishment. None of this is worthy of reward, and Eridanus wants to desperately to be good.

The sight of the boy thrashing would cause Roan to back up just a bit. He hadn't expected such a reaction from someone who seemed so battered, but perhaps that fight or flight instinct was still at the forefront of @Eridanus' mind. Whatever he had been through, maybe he was still fighting it. Roan knew that struggle all too well and had seen that blank stare play out on his own father's face more than once. The choked word master was hardly noticed as @Roarke approached. The fur on the back of his neck bristled as Roan watched the speckled lion run right for the boy. They hadn't spoken since Sangria took the Rainforest. It was a surprise to still note the scent of Firnen upon the ashen lion's pelt. The Hodari couldn't even pretend to know what had been going on in the Rainforest since Sangria's death.

It would come as a welcomed surprise, then, when his former pridemate appeared to only have concern for the rogue child and nothing more. Reaffirming himself, Roan nodded. "Yeah. Obsidian is right around the corner." And they had food, water, and medics, but Roarke already had the boy in his grasps and Eri didn't seem to be eager to fight the hold. "I can take him," he offered, if only to save them both the awkwardness of traveling to the Hollow together. Neither seemed aware of the other's rank within their prides for the time being, but if Roarke refused, then the Hodari supposed he'd just have to play nice for the boy's sake.

Table & Image by Amanda | Background | Lineart

Right around the corner would have to do. The boy flails, and flinches as if he expects a blow from Roarke. And then he goes limp, unwilling to fight back or struggle out of Roarke’s grip. Yet the dragon can all but feel the child’s trembling frame; he stills, just for a moment, gaze unreadable. He is all too familiar with the effects of beating children. Not all the scars on his frame are from adulthood, after all. Not all of them from battle and war.

The offer to take @Eridanus is met with a flat stare. "No." It’s a simple word, backed with enough authority without his title - no one is touching the boy. Not now. "I’ll take him to Firnen if Obsidian does not want outsiders in it." What is best for the boy is that he is cared for, certainly, but whatever dormant, protective instincts had awakened when Lexa announced her pregnancy have activated once more. It has nothing to do with his own past. Not at all.

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of child abuse, slavery, depression/trauma and violence

He is too tired to make out more than rumbling tones, the finer notes of tension lost on the boy. He sags further, shaking in fear and pain. In states like this he reverts to his oldest memories, the ones of a mother soft and sweet and littermates with gentle kisses. It had been such a brief time, curled up against her belly. He remembers only the feeling and little else distinct. He even thinks he remembers a gentle fatherly kiss from time to time. These were the only kindnesses bestowed upon him. What a different fate that was, taken from him at such a ripe age. He had barely learned to walk when his Master took him, and from there the few kindnesses of his boyhood had been stripped. Whatever gods or deities existed, they did not smile on Eridanus Zero.

He hurts and he yearns to make the pain stop, and the only way he knows how is to be good. Useful, compliant, subservient. He tries again to rise, shaking limbs pulling beneath his body as his hind legs manage to support him. He lowers himself into a bow, shaking while trying to hold it. He’s doing so good, can you see Master? Can you see? Of course he does not expect gentle praises, but the only thing worse than the absence of love is the presence of pain. If this alleviates him of it, he’ll do it.

His breathing grows more ragged from the effort, but he stays silent and avoids whimpering. He tries to still himself as best he can, appeasing the strangers who he thinks must have won him. Or bought him. His burnt paws ache, his weak body sings with a wish to bring him to his knees. Rest will come later, only after it has been permitted to him. He is not his own soul to command, but a body chained. He’s learned the pain that choice can bring, and even if it seeps life from him now, appeasement is the best chance he has.

He can hardly tear his gaze from the beaten child, mind whirling a mile a minute to try and figure out what could have happened to put the boy in such a state. Shaken and shabby, @Eridanus had barely uttered a word while Roan and @Roarke try to do what was best for the welp. The Firnen lion instantly shuts down the offer for the mauve lion to take the boy to Obsidian himself. Knowing better than to waste time arguing, the Hodari simply shrugged it off. "Just thought I'd save you the trip," he offered offhandedly without leaving room for rebuttal. "Obsidian is this way then. We have healers." The very minimal of words would be offered to the speckled lion as Roan nodded in the direction of home. Without much warning, the mauve lion then turned on his heels, eager to leave the passage behind and fully expecting his former pridemate to follow with the boy in tow. First things first, get the boy some help. Roan would hope once that was taken care of, then maybe Eridanus would be in better shape to choose a home for himself. If not, though... Well, hopefully that wouldn't be a struggle if it came down to it.

exit Roan to new thread in OH?

Table & Image by Amanda | Background | Lineart

Roarke, in his defence, does not think Roan would harm the child. But neither can he bring himself to abandon the boy yet. Roan relents, however, and the giant’s ear flicks before he moves to follow the mauve lion. The boy clasped carefully and tightly between his jaws, kept safe from dragging on the ground. It would be an exhausting journey - even close by, the Hollows is still a trek while carrying a half-grown lion. Roarke will not slow down, however; getting to a healer, and somewhere safe, is far more important.


Exit with @Eridanus & @Roan

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger warning for mentions of child abuse, slavery, depression/trauma and violence

He’s so tired as they discuss things he doesn’t understand- his vision starts to fade. He’s depleted so much energy and he simply hurts. Even beneath his own panic, it’s as if his very body recognizes help. His eyes flicker shut, eyelids heavy as they try to close. As he’s lifted upwards he flinches, but can offer no more resistance. Every ounch of fight has left his body, and all that remains now is fear.

He drifts off to a world of slumber, where he dreams of gentle things – dandelions and mother’s kisses and wriggling siblings. He dreams of the softest of words and the gentlest of encouragements, and the bluest skies he can recall. In his dreams everything becomes amplified, but how could life be this sweet? How could life be so sweet and so painful all at once? He fades into darkness with this thought, no choice but to give his worn and tired young body over to the kindness of strangers.

Exit with Roan & Roarke, via unconsciousness & physically