in the still of the night

Mount Volkan. It was home now, Dimitri had agreed. Elias had taken him in, after all. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Still, the illusionist longed for Iromar. It had been a long time, understand. A long time since he'd been surrounded by those that meant the most to him. A long fucking time. Dimitri tried not to be haunted by it, but he couldn't help it. No part of his brain could be pulled from the fact that he was going to be... weird. That which does not kill you only makes you stranger.

That what does not kill you only makes you stronger. Dimtri made his way up the mountain and down. He'd learn every crevice, every rock, every den in the side of this mountain. Always, he slept alone. Curled up, with his fine bone and sharp gaze, as he would among the stones. Home. This was home. His mind was spinning, but his body was working. A heart that hurts is a heart that works, but that sounded like bullshit to him.

Night had fallen, but he continued to pace up and down the mountain in the dark. A wraith in the darkness, nothing could touch him up here. He belonged here. This was his place, this was his home. Nothing could touch him. Nothing would touch him. The mind and the malady, Dimitri would build his skills starting right here at home.