Student The ranking doesn't sit well in his mind. He is supposed to be a God, and he knows little- so very little. Since his encounter with the vermin who marred both he an his beloved, he as been practicing. Alone, but he as been practicing. He stalks through the forest, the forest his sister reclaimed for them. His forest. He is debating on what ranking he wants within the pack. What is he good at? He's growing better with his fighting skills, and he isn't a bad hunter. His time alone taught him to fend for himself, to hunt for himself. He supposes he can at least contribute there within the pack until he becomes a force to be reckoned with. He isn't foolish enough to think he can take on anyone, but he's perhaps stupid enough to not back down. What can he do for Elysium? The pack is his name-sake just as it is his siblings. He needs to earn the name. His head tilts into the air- and he calls for her. His tyrant, his sister. He summons her into the depths of the forest- for he wants to discuss himself and the great being he knows he can be. He calls for her- and her alone, discontent in waiting for her to arrive, he paces around, his tail lashing in the murky air behind him.

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? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? and there is but a deafening disturbance within her otherwise silent crypt, the tenor of his summons recognizable even at a distance; it is her own brother -- her barbaric Cerberus -- who demands an audience with his sister the queen. she obliges his request with the obligatory diligence reserved for authority, her procession swift and methodical as she weaves through compacted underbrush and enigmatic mists alike on her makeshift route towards him. skull sways in ascension { atop it, which supports the metaphorical crown she had seized partially for his sake } as her frigid gaze devours his malevolent entity, masculine limbs ceasing to propel her any closer once an appropriate three feet of vacancy is left to linger between siblings --- tauntingly. her pupils trail after his rugged physique while he paces, impatience seeping through pallid pores; and yet, the deity can only offer the fiend the amusement riddled across her countenance in the form of an ebbing smirk. shoulders roll high to stretch stiff muscles in preparation for whatever it is the youthful elysius intends to discuss with her; and if reputations are a source of influence, the phantom deity can only predict an intriguely wicked reunion.