Nostalgia

Rotting away like his broken father. Sephiran remembered the man all too well- Daedalus, the crazed monstrosity who’d mutilated his own son in the wake of his demonic hallucinations. His grandmother imprisoning him, tending to him like a pet, harboring him inside of a den no one knew how to find. One of the many demented souls Saffron harbored. Sephiran’s mind went back to the day Astrid found Caedes- how she’d carried his mangled body to her den - and the screams - music to the young satanist's ears, as he didn’t know much about Caedes at the time. Only that he was broken.

But that wasn’t the case anymore- he’d matured in Sephiran’s absence, morphing into a formidable foe, should he become one. And for a moment, the persecutory delusions start to seep out from the corners of Sephiran’s demented mind. Has he come to take my throne? His lips start to twitch, giving insight into the rumination in his skull. But Caedes is quick to extinguish that fire- whether it was intentional or not.

A place where his skills could be used - a cause to align himself with. His rationale coincided with most others who’d left Saffron to join him. In truth, Sephiran would be a fool not to jump on this opportunity- a battle-born warrior with near-expert medicinal skills, who believed in the supremacy of the Saxe. “Very well,” He says, nodding his head to Caedes. “For now, you will remain a Ghazi. But as you progress in your studies,” His gaze shifts to the Jimson Weed, then back to Caedes. “You may rise to the calling of Effendi Haakim, or perhaps, Effendi Muqatil.” Both were generous positions in the pack, ones that held higher authority over the Ghazi but were also tasked with more responsibility.  

"Sephiran Saxe"