Iskandor stood frozen, his brother Citadel reigning victorious, their mother crumpling in his arms. The blood pounding in Iskandor’s ears drowned out all. Except the sight before him—betrayal, heartbreak, the tearing apart of their family in a single, devastating skirmish. He watched as Citadel lowered their mother gently, almost tenderly, before stepping back, his voice resolute. More sharp than he’d ever heard his brother sound. What happened to the simply happy, mischievous Cit?“I won’t be a slave. Not now, not ever,” Citadel declared, his words so..final that they sent a chill through Iskandor’s very core.
When Citadel turned, addressing Iskandor now, his voice was lower but no less bitter. “Take care of her. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day.” And just like that, he turned from them all—mother, brothers, pack—walking away from everything they had ever known. Was it so simple? How truly hard was it? No. Iskandor wouldn’t let this stand.
Iskandor’s heart thundered in his chest, torn between loyalty to his pack and family, and to his brother. His gaze shifted to their mother, her form trembling on the ground, and then to Balrog, who stood shielding her with his fiery form, voice cracking with emotion. Balrog’s reasoning cut through Iskandor, and his gaze dropped to their mother. Her tears, her head pressed against Balrog. His golden brother's words of comfort, trembling but steady. For her. “You tried, Mom. He’s the one who failed us, not you.” Of course. What was she to do she her own son risked so much on the grounds of adventure? And yet…
The sight of his family—shattered and grieving—was almost too much to bear. Iskandor’s claws dug into the snow as he forced himself to speak, his voice choked but firm. “No, Balrog. This isn’t just his failure. It’s all of ours. We failed him just as much as he failed us. We didn’t see what he needed before it was too late. Right? Wrong? Who decides that? There is only here and now.“
He stepped closer to Ignita, his mother, his massive form lowering until he was eye level with her. His turquoise eyes, so much like Basilisk’s, softened as he addressed her. “You tried, Mother. I know you did. But this… this isn’t the end for him. It can’t be. I won’t let it be. Don’t give up on him.”
He rose again, turning his attention to Balrog. Determination in his gaze, and unwillingness to yield. “Stay with her. She needs you. Protect her. Protect Armada. That’s where you belong. But my place, for now… is with him. I won’t give up on him.” In the background, the sound of his father crashing through the brush and demanding answers.
Iskandor didn’t wait for a response. He turned toward the path Citadel had taken, despite the ache in his chest. Inskandor bolted, disappearing into the forest, his voice carried back to them, loud and certain. “I’ll bring him back. I promise.” And with that, he vanished into the trees, following the faint trail his brother had left behind.
-exit unless stopped-
"Speech"
