he had not been absent, no, but his presence had been scarce. the russet king had fallen from his throne and now had spent copious amounts of time working on his schemes to take them back. it was an hour of condemnation all around him, and even he didn?t know that in mere hours the kingdom from where he had grown would be under siege of a new leader. and yet, had he known the thought would not daunt him. he had tried to make Valhalla stand on their own feet and they had turned from him and hid from his tactics as though they were scolded babes. For that he had no respect. he could not defend those that could not defend themselves. the thought repulsed him. terribly. all but his family were forsaken. how had he grown so jaded? so angry? where had his wicked schemes taken root? Father, where ?art thou? You forgot to leave me with compassion.


maybe it was because of his mother?s early departure that compassion had skipped him. Yet, that excuse was invalid because it had become an essence of Epiphron...even more so of Chrysanthe. Chrysanthe was the kind to forgive again and again regardless of whom someone had hurt if she truly believed they would change. Epiphron, on the other hand, would only be screwed over once. Then she would feel no pity in slaying her wrongdoers. Syrinx and Eos?syrinx only cared for life if it was his blood--otherwise it was probably a threat and if he had to spill it he paid no mind. Eos was the least compassionate. She held no love for her family nor strangers. Her own children were hardly given her affections. Syrinx had scarcely earned them, and perhaps had ony earned them because she would have realized it wasn?t that he was searching for them, but that he wouldn?t be denied them. Compassion from the godless queen was reserved for the sovereign lord. and yet; they were lost to each other and they would not find themselves ever in each other?s embrace. For as much as syrinx loved her--she had wounded his heart. he could not manifest desire for her any longer, but always she would be his sister and the mother to his first borns.

Much to his surprise, times had indeed changed. He was not looking for Eos, nor Epiphron, nor Chyrsanthe. They were memories to be put on hold until he had accomplished his current goal. He needed his reine. Artemis had been chosen, despite her willingness or lack thereof, and she would rise to the occasion. He wouldn?t need to pretend with her. If she would align her life with some form of commitment the woman would find herself unmatchable. Syrinx, however, knew that her tactics and his could ally with each other. All they needed to do was stand on common ground. She needed to be a ruler not ruled and Syrinx could have her do exactly that. He was no longer idle in Alacritis. The behemoth cast back his skull and called for the dark genesis. Surely, she?d at least have her interest piqued and come to him. Or were his thoughts simply futile?

No--the summons had not been derived from her own kin, and yet, the phantom deity felt a strong inclination to adhere to it due to the familiarity its tone harbored. Such baritone and domineering vocals could only be associated with the red titan whose intellect she ( spiteful recluse! ) had been entirely enraptured with; ah, so Syrinx had finally emerged from the shadows that had engulfed his ambitious being? The last time the wraith had encountered him, she had been on the verge of adulthood and teeming with malevolence; presently, however, she thrived within her prime yet retained her selfish and innate tendency for utter chaos. He--a behemoth brimming with tangible competence--had ensnared her rare attention due to the similarities they shared; two like-minds that epitomized vigor and were enthralled by the prospect of authority and desolation, and were eager to fulfill their own desires. Their unification beneath a singular purpose would mean nothing beneficial to this world they inhabited; and yet, the paladin was certain that this world needed her to change its face and values, and change she most certainly would. His voice would lead her towards a labyrinth of caverns that would surely fascinate her--they were cryptic and dimly lit and the passages were far too complex; she proposed she could get lost within the caves for hours had his scent not been so intense. Robust appendages would carry her with obvious finesse and refined poise as her nostrils flared with the intake of his musk, directing her towards the epicenter of his aroma deep within the maze. Serpentine was the wraith?s physique as she slunk along the rugged walls towards his malicious being, mismatched gaze trained upon his gargantuan silhouette as she sought to halt mere feet away from where he stood--a beacon of fortitude and self-assurance. ?Is your time nearing?? she inquired curiously, wondering if he was wont to seize the limelight he so desired at last. With or without him, she knew that her time was quickly approaching--greed had all but devoured this tyrannical sovereign whose idea of conquering never strayed far from the premises of a most diseased mind.

Syrinx had an allurement to the dove that dared to come now. She was delectable in the most effeminate of ways, but that was not his addiction to her. No, she was more so a drug and he ad to wonder how much of her was a hallucinogen, because no woman should have such an effect. No woman should have been allowed to walk so near him in the dead of the night and be so bold and ave so much similarity to him that he possessed some regard for her. Artemis; poisonous and righteous more so than everyone else. Though, perspective seemed to define him and it was no doubt to him that perspective also defined she. A smirk pulled across his lips as he found her and came to her. He watched her hungrily analyzing her movements. The question was natural and seemed only fitting for her to dare ask, and still he laughed. She asked for a reason. Perhaps she wanted to know if they were on common ground. Was it her time; was the lady ready to actually maintain a life as a Queen tis time.

"Glaciem. I want it," He didn't even necessarily require Glaciem, but he still needed to rule. He needed to be the king of something that was magnificent and Glaciem needed to be restored to its former glory. Syrinx was not a liar or a selfish man. Isardis had dont a good job conjuring up followers. Now it was the fire king's turn. That was, perhaps, why Isardis and Syrinx could not be a king while the oter was. They were far too opposite. Together, they were far too dangerous. A wry smirk passed across his lips and his ears pressed against his skull as he took a step towards her. He wasn't so adverse to a lack of distance. He had no trouble creating a bridge of sorts, "You're ready to be a Queen, but do not do so on a whim," Even Syrinx was waiting for the appropriate time to strike Glaciem's leaders. If he waited a moment then it would be easy for him to stir up chaos from the get go. He knew his first move--the adults their freedom; the children their enslavement. From there, mothers would fall to his command...and from there likewise would father...for Glaciem was a family unit and he knew they wouldn't tear apart for such simple means.

He regards her with a hungry gaze, though the wraith refuses to crumble beneath the weight of such intense scrutiny. Rather, she indulges in the limelight he provides for her, a wry and lopsided smirk encumbering her porcelain countenance as a singular brow quirks upon her forehead inquisitively--tauntingly. She allows for a momentary and comfortable silence to consume her malevolent being following her inquiry, attention fixated upon he who had summoned her to his crypt as a brief and resounding chortle cascades from his jaws--for what reason, she is uncertain, though she does not allow for his mocking response to dissuade her from sharing his company. After all, she quite decidedly enjoys the presence of the red titan despite her inability to fully comprehend him; his purpose and incentives are too similar to her own for her to spite him, and she can only assume that their alignment would only benefit both of their causes. Yes--the fire king and phantom queen are better off united than d i v i d e d; of this, she is confident. His aspirations are predictable--it had been quite evident to the former tyrant from the get-go that her behemoth counterpart felt nothing but abhorrence for the ice king presiding in the north; and although she does hope Syrinx will prosper, she does not entirely wish failure upon her former sovereign?s head. He had taken her beneath the protection of his wing ( although she might not have ever truly needed it ), and for that, she cannot loathe his existence--she is simply indifferent to the prospect of his secondary defeat at the savage paws of the red titan. She knows that she does not need to coax the ambitious brute before her to seize what he strove for--he will take whatever he desires whenever it so appeases him--so she remains unspeaking, cryptic gaze gleaming with devious intent in a silent testimony of her approval. As he maneuvers towards her, she remains undaunted--violet and silver gaze unwavering from his own cerulean as speech pours from wicked jaws, possessing a patronizing tone that the wraith finds less than appealing. He advises her to deny the prying grasp of impulsivity and greed ( though finds room to spare a compliment all in the same breath ) and the ghost of a frown tugs at the corners of her velveteen lips, encompassing her typically wry countenance with evident rancor. Upon compulsion she saunters forward, elegance pronounced in every placement of her paws as she seeks to lay waste to the slight distance lingering between them, halting only once she has breached striking distance of the brute--intrepid in her ways. ?I have waited long enough,? she informs her counterpart, cryptic gaze hardening with unyielding conviction; her time approaches, and approaches all too quickly. ?Arcanum,? her announcement is a murmur, the verdict of a pack?s fate confident upon a cunning tongue as she seeks to brush past the red titan, gliding in the opposite direction from whence she hailed, all too aware of his looming presence. ?My family wants their home, and I--? she pauses, skull twisting in his direction as her visage contorts with an oncoming smirk, ?--my crown.? Muzzle inclines towards her forward path, a gesture that silently invites the brute to follow her through the labyrinth of passages within the cavern, curiosity grabbing her by the reigns. ?Is that what you wanted to speak of, Syrinx?? she inquires slowly as she presses onward, hoping that he will enlighten her as to why she had been beckoned to his temporary haven.