Summit of Influence

As the sun began to set, casting a warm, celestial glow across the island, Sephiran had just traversed down the gutted valley that led into the heart of the dormant volcano. The warmth of the volcanic ash engaged his tactile senses, and the scent of sulfur infiltrated his nose and caused it to wrinkle. The lake, resonating heat - a welcoming contrast to the frigid, fall air - was starting to sparkle beneath the twilight sky; the silhouettes of trees from the pine forest up above, outlined against the fading light. The occasional chirping of crickets, and the occasional bubbling of a hot spot beneath the lake’s surface, cut through the silence of the pit. It was an ethereal scene, no doubt.

In truth, Sephiran didn’t visit the island too often; most of his affairs were carried out in The Polar Sound. But he’d noticed Absinth had been spending more time here, having claimed one of the beach-side dens for herself. A vacation home, perhaps. And where Absinth went, Aresenn tended to follow, and Sephiran had business with the crimson male. He’d recently claimed the rank of Emir, and Sephiran needed to follow up it.

Approaching the entrance to the hidden alcoves, Sephiran comes to a sudden halt; his neck extending out, nostrils quivering as he inhales the scents within. Somewhere in the labyrinth of passageways, Aresenn is lurking. And so, the Sultan releases a series of deep, guttural sounds, the vocalizations meant to summon the male to him.

"Sephiran Saxe"