Out of breath, I am left hoping someday I'll breathe again... The blue Armada boy turned man paced a thin line in a land he had once called home, once thought might even be his. He had considered himself a prince, however foolhardy that dream might have been - it was one he had held onto with everything he'd had. Then, all at once it seemed like someone began pulling the strings out of the rope holding his dreams, cut them one by one. His father grew ill, his mother lost her mind, his brother disappeared, Athena took control, Drashiel ran off with Roman, and the rope had snapped. He hadn't wanted that, hadn't anticipated the fall of an empire so quickly. He hadn't known how much his father had driven the entirety of their family until his driving force was not there. In his youth he had grown frustrated with the lack of attention he received from his father, now he knew that was a foolish way to think. His father had done everything for him, had given everything for him. His mother had too, though in a different way. He breathed a sigh through crippled lungs, pausing to rest his haunches in the middle of the line he'd nearly worn right through the marble. The moonlight cast an eerie glow over the area, similar to the one he'd first witnessed with Lysis upon his first trip here. They had been but children then. He had loved the wash then, now it only made his heart ache for his family long lost. He lifted his steely chin, allowing a mournful cry to escape sorrowed lips - remembering those he now thought to be lost. Jigsaw, Sendoa, Isardis, all of his family. It was a rarity for him to feel these particular emotions so strongly, but it seemed his family was a worthy enough cause to draw out sorrow in the Armada lad. His mind fluttered to Pandora, and then Lysis.. and he knew all hope was not lost just yet. “speak,”

Kuvio "Jigsaw" Armada

It is no traitor of the ordinary to seek a palace of stone that once towered as a household Kingdom; and it was wholly lucid as to why Isardis had sought power over such an enchanting landscape of skinless bone. A family of wealth it had seemed so desperately necessary for the Armada’s to brood over such obscure northern domains, polished marble if not but a gold-paved causeway to their empire. Though it is not an ideal lurk for such an elusive and concealed personality, perhaps it is the inevitable loom of a brother that spurs the silent phantom onwards in elegant haunt; seeking to charily present himself somewhat to Kyarst’s leftward rear – a phantasm downwind, “Who do your mourn, brother?” Jigsaw had never been the emotional type, but surely to find his sibling alive and well is a brewing sentiment few can refuse. And oh – he had changed! Mismatched gaze of distilling curio shall loom amidst a tepid façade of puzzled smear. 

The voice came, and for a moment he was certain he had imagined it, else the wind was playing horrible, horrible tricks upon him. Alas, he was not fooled by the northern whispers. His brother was here. There came a question from the phantom's lips, and a smile would creep across the steely man's toothy maw. He would breathe a sigh before exasperatedly giving his response,  “Why, my long lost anomaly of a brother of course.” It would only be then that he would swivel his great head to spy his brother's patched frame looming just behind him. Shoulders, midsection, and hindquarters followed suit until he had spun 'round to face his closest kin, offering a gentle wave of his tail in greeting.  “It's been too long, Jig.” Emerald eyes would examine his pallid sibling as silence fell over them. It wasn't the traditional overdramatized greeting that one might expect from two brothers, but alas - it was meaningful enough. “speak,”

Kuvio "Jigsaw" Armada

Time would never name them unfamiliar; through a buried childhood and isolated tribute two brothers would be brothers until lungs shattered and heart discoloured beneath greying skies. Though they do not rejoice in compassionate contact, quad-gaze seems wholly enough of a reunion that is needed – a benevolent gape on behalf of sallow oddity, ascertaining Kyarst to be a flimsy manifestation of their mother.  Pale lips will curl if but faintly, a coiling tepidness that exudes familial pleasure; a gratitude of their union, “Harshly quiet without them, no?” Alacritis seemed a little less like home without the ferocious reign of their parents – The Marble Wash was a particularly ghostly place to visit without the incessant stench of Armada veins.  

Joy would fill his heart at being reunited with his kin, and yet not an ounce of it would show outwardly. The phantom's voice would ring out, as much as the aloof brother's voice could 'ring'. He made mention of their parents, the very same ones that had once called this place their kingdom. A seriousness would ghost across his mask,  “Eerily silent,” he would add on to his kin's observation. It pained him to think he might never see them again. Logic would scream they were gone and not likely to return, but love and a harsh degree of stubbornness would not allow him to bend to the will of logic.  “Armadas still rule in Regium, but it is nothing like before.” He had yet to make his decision as to whether or not he would rejoin the remainder of his family in Regium, though there was an undeniable desire festering inside him to do just that.  “I don't suppose it will ever be as it was,” he breathed with a sense of dread. It would be impossible for anyone to parallel the rule of Isardis and Sendoa, and to surpass it would be nothing but foolish desire. “speak,”

Kuvio "Jigsaw" Armada

Though Armada’s still wore a proud badge of reputation ( screaming power, battle-fury and genetic wealth ) few had done little to earn the silks nor the brag. Many, appalled by the reality their father and his followers, refused to bathe beneath a grandeur gifted only by birth and taint of blood. Alas, veins are of little interest to the insipid divinity, however the slums that tower now are perhaps more of an ample attraction, “Unlikely. Those that argue to rule the North seem to be no more than faceless claims of authority – still they lack the muscle to sustain their declarations and the intellect to welcome warfare.” There is a birthed potential of brutality that shudders beneath a chilled core; though undoubtedly an expression reserved for either the deserving or the related.  He is unsure whether Kyarst is aware of their father’s departurue, but finds no interest in speaking of such unless it is asked. “I cannot help but question if you seek The Polar Sound; I still unearth the vivid memories of your feathered friend that resides there.” Atlas, no?

His kin seemed uncertain of the 'rulers' that held the north. Kyarst was doubtful of their qualifications himself, though he hadn't uttered a word of it - even to Lysis. He found it hard to believe that his own siblings, hardly older than himself, could claim to hold a portion of landscape, much less be responsible for the entirety of a pack. They were expecting children, and he suspected any day now things could fall apart - divine blood or not.  “It is that reason and more that I have not yet chosen to join their ranks,” he voiced to his only true brother. There came a query next, one that brought the smallest of smiles to his lips.  “I have thought about returning there, but only for nostalgia's sake. Atlas has moved on, though he does visit from time to time.” HIs tail would flick idly, thinking back to the last time he'd seen his feathered friend. He enjoyed his time with the bird, but their friendship was hardly practical. It wasn't as if a penguin could ever keep up with a wolf, especially when the snow melted. Perhaps now that Kyarst didn't wander so far they would rekindle the friendship they had once had. “speak,”