She roams the territory idly, lips pursed, a certain sadness touching celestial eyes. No clue is outwardly offered as to the reason of her slight sadness--only a dimming in the glimmer of usually-brilliant orbs as she wanders toward the low, thrumming sound of the river flowing slowly out to sea. Something brings her to the familiar shoreline--one of the few sandy water edges in the territory, its only adornment a massive log petrified by the trials of the weather, washed up in a flood even before she had been born. Nostalgia always seemed to drag her back here when she had nothing else to do, and it is here that she pauses at the water's edge. In the distance, the western horizon engulfs the setting sun slowly and for a while, she watches darkness fall over her home, watches the water's blue glow begin to emanate softly from its surface. She takes note of the higher swiftness of currents in certain areas, signified by the increased brightness of the glow, with fascination. Almost a bit suddenly, she lifts her head to the sky. From ebony lips trails a long, low howl--a summoning call for none other than Epiphron Adravendi.

For Epiphron, Ludicael is an escape from everything. As Jupiter is a woman only vaguely familiar to her, she knows little of her life; just as Jupiter knows little about hers. Here, she can rebuild. She can forget that she has been betrayed and that forget that she had been naive enough to build a life with someone who would so easily destroy it. Here, she can be reborn. The setting sun had begun to cast shadows over the land, as the mangrove begins to come to life once again. The dull landscape begins to sparkle and glow, something that has amazed her since the first night she spent here in Ludicael. It is mildly surprising for her to hear Jupiter calling to her from the shoreline, but she will not complain at another chance to explore these gorgeous lands by night. There is little hesitation in her gait as he begins to travel toward her, wondering what the other woman needs of her. A smile graces her features as she spots her, gracefully moving to settle at her side. "Beautiful," she comments softly, watching as the last few rays of sunlight cast a dull glow over the horizon.

Audit flicks at the sound of an approach, head tilting slightly to the side to but spare a peripheral glance at the familiar woman that nears. Pupils turn back out to the waters, soft smile touching her lips at the word that falls from the lady's lips. That compliment sends a small sense of pride into her gut. They are separate entities, the mangroves and she, but if there's one land the Sol has ever been in touch with, this is it. It seems to bend to her whim at times. The phoenix recalls the time of the hurricane--when she'd come out here, so angry at the world, trembling with the trees s they pulled and pushed around her. And it'd stopped. She stepped up to the frothing, thundering waters and the wind quieted, the rain soothed--the eye blessed the Mangroves. There had even been some sunlight, shining through the dim. Celestial orbs trail to Epiphron, examining her for a moment. Lips purse as she ruminates over the weight of her decision, ponders over how to break it to her. Jupiter considers small talk--asking her how she's settling in and everything, but the scent of the mangrove's salts touch her pelt well enough to answer the question for her. For a long minute she falls silent, gazing out at the waters, before she speaks. "My son has disappeared," she says softly. Tone isn't particularly devastated--it's but a small bit crestfallen, the rest tinged with neutrality akin to that of a non-biased entity making a statement of truth. "Ludicael is left without an heir." A pause, pregnant with purpose, as she spares the woman with a glance. "That is, unless, you accept my offer when I ask that you be Ludicael's heiress." Sudden. It's all sudden and she's highly, highly aware of that. Just how nobody probably expects to be hit in the head by raindrops when the sky has not a cloud, not many expect to be asked such a thing out of nowhere. But there's nobody else. Not a single other person she trusts. Perhaps it is blind--naive, even, to trust the woman so easily, the one she knows so little about. But the way they fit together naturally, oddly perfect pieces carved by the past and molded together by unending nostalgia. "I'm getting older," she admits in a low rumble, eyes averting as she pores over this confession. It's no secret for those who have known her for a long time. She is still spry, healthy, with only the slightest fringe of gray hairs kissing the shallow-furred planes around her nose and eyes, almost an illusion. "Those that I trust have mostly left these god-forsaken lands. But I was born here. And I will die here." That much is final. She will not rot away in some foreign land, away from the very earth that gave life to her. "When? I don't know. Right now, it's only a bit of an ache in my bones when I wake up. It could be a year, it could be two. It could be tomorrow if I sleepwalk into the ocean for all I know. But I won't leave these lands to the wretches. To those who don't know how it used to be." Lip curls slightly. It would give them too much satisfaction. To see her leave. That fueled her fire, chained her here. She could easily rule the world elsewhere--with Isardis, maybe, if she found him--but instead she rots here, bound by a mix between inheritance and duty and infinite stubbornness. They would love to see her just leave them all be, release their family. But they wouldn't get it that easy. They'd have to kill her before she leaves. They could take what they wanted; any part of her that they wanted, they could seize from her all they wished but she would fight until her dying breath against them. Until the last moment she sinks into permanent unconsciousness, she will haunt them as a plague, as a scourge on their very existence. But for now, she seeks to secure a legacy. Not her own. Not her family's. But Alacritia's. The legacy of her homelands and those that came, and those that conquered. Gaze turns, expectantly, to Epiphron. Quiet.

Slowly, she is regaining her courage. Her drive. Maverick's betrayal, the death of her brother, had sapped all of it from her -- but she knows that she can't spend forever in the shadows. Perhaps here she can become whole again. Will her children join her here, she wonders? Perhaps Jupiter will offer them a place here to, if any of them wish to make these lands their home too. There is a sort of tension in the air. It is palpable and she finds her gaze shifting from the water to her Sol, curious as to the source of the strangeness. It takes Jupiter a moment to speak, and Epiphron is patient, reveling in the quiet that encases the pair. This place is serene and she already knows that she could easily consider it home. She is surprised at Jupiter's request. She has hardly earned her rank in the pack, let alone such a position. And though her initial instinct is to reject the proposal -- though not because she is humble, but because she has no idea what she might do with a pack if something happens to Jupiter. A pack full of prisoners, no less. Once she had dreamed of the day when she might rule again, but now? She had changed. But her lips would purse in careful thought, eyes narrowing as she considered. "I accept," she says quietly. The sudden burden of responsibility weighs down on her shoulders, though it feels like a distant possibility at best. Only in the worst case scenario would she begin to consider what she might do with Ludicael, and with the prisoners here, if they were still kept here then.