take me before i start to change my mind
#1
Anyone is welcome! Though be warned that Silas is kind of depressed right now. :3
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If he stopped moving, the pressure in his chest seemed to suffocate him. It had been that way for almost three weeks now, and Silas had done the best he could to distract himself from spiraling into a deep depression that seemed on the brink of shadowing over him. He had shut himself away in his room, letting the anger and frustration and the incredible hurt bubble over his frame and saturate his mind. After awhile, it had become too much for him to bear, and so he had to get up and move and try to dispel thoughts of his father having abandoned him. He paced the hallways, and then paced the perimeter, but nothing seemed to help much. After awhile, Silas even got sick of looking at the mansion, and he wandered away deeper into Inferni’s territory so that pale eyes might be able to focus on something else entirely.

It shouldn’t have hurt this much, but Rurik’s abandonment was like repeatedly pouring salt into freshly cut wounds. How could he have done this to his sons? The worst part was that he had not told him in person, and Silas had been left with a note to explain things. Worse yet, was Liliya’s departure too. Silas knew she had always been the least excited about their trek to Nova Scotia, but it hurt to know that she was so unhappy that she had had to leave. Perhaps he didn’t understand everything as to how it truly was, but Silas felt hurt regardless. So much hurt.

Before reaching the caves, the boy sprawled onto the earth with arms and legs extended away from his body. Pale eyes, framed in thick locks of onyx and the familiar blue bandana, stared up into the overcast autumn sky and found no solace there. Now that he had stopped, the weight was pressing down on his chest again. Perhaps he’d just lay here forever until the weight finally stole his air and crushed the life out of him. Good riddance, cruel world.


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#2
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Hope a grumpy cyclops is okay, since Jefferson can kind of relate to a bunch of the issues Silas is having. I don't know where the caves are in Inferni territory; can it be supposed that Silas is in viewing distance from the borders? If not, I can always get rid of this post. :3



He had heard rumors upon rumors about some loony group establishing themselves as a pack somewhere far to the west to Phoenix Valley. While none of these rumors had been confirmed as correct, it forced the one-eyed idiot to reconsider his pack's relationship with the other packs yet again—something he commonly brooded about, for his pack's safety was always his highest priority. He and Dawali had hardly spoken since Geneva's fall before even the summer, though the cyclops had come across Ember at one point or another, and yet despite their gap in relations, Jefferson knew confidently the tribe had he and his pack's back. Haku had been torn down from Dahlia months prior and hadn't been heard from since, or so Jefferson knew, and yet the cyclops had yet to meet the beast's rumored son that had taken over. Where was Cercelee?


Inferni was not a particularly long trek to the north, and so when the cyclops realized it had once again been some time since he'd heard from the coyote cult, he set out instantaneously. The brute could not wait until the winter—the bitter months tore at his joints and made any extensive travel difficult for the aging beast, thus the trip needed to be happen sooner. He hadn't heard from Kaena, that peculiar fellow cyclops, since the day he'd rescued her, and it seemed unlike Gabriel to show his face every once in a while, either. It had been many months since the fire that destroyed their original home and forced them further north to resettle; due to their 'good behavior,' Jefferson could only assume things were working well.


But he had to check in, not just to ensure his pack's safety but also to satiate his mild curiosity. Green eye fell on the same skull-tipped posts that lined Inferni borders, though the sight hardly stirred any feeling within him anymore. The air still stank of blood and wariness, like a disease that brushed through in the wind. He shivered, cleared his throat, walked the borders. Should he call? No, it wasn't urgent. If they continued to be this quiet as he moved along, the brute would simply turn around and go home. Surely, if they were up to something, he'd have sensed it by now.


However, he did not. Instead, he came across one of its members—one that looked hardly coyote, or so he thought—sprawled and open on the ground. Gritting his teeth, the Patriarch wasted no time—he hastened to the stranger's side, fearing the worst, but recognized a breathing chest and open eyes as he came closer. No emergency, yet the one-armed idiot was already past the Inferni borders. Damn. He could had turned around, could have just headed home and acted like he'd seen nothing, but he did not. Jefferson stepped slowly, unfazed, to the prone man's body and hung down over him. "So," the cyclops muttered sarcastically, "this is what you people do when you're not maiming people."


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#3
Hi Lin! Big Grin The caves are kinda inland a bit, but we can just say that Silas went a little closer to the borders on his way there. +3
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Pale eyes blinked, erasing the overcast sky above for no longer than a few seconds. A deep inhale of breath fought against the weight, and the exhale was too easily accomplished. Why had his family’s departure affected him with such intensity? He had not realized before how much they had meant to him, even though he had neglected to visit very often. Yet, there was a substantial difference in knowing that an entire body of water separated him from his family, and not just over 40 miles of neutral territory. The grey was never-ending – no white clouds or peering sun to disrupt it – but Silas was somewhat glad he wasn’t greeted by a summery blue. It would have reminded him too much of the ocean, and only set his heart to aching even more than it was. Instead, he stared up at the monotonous sky, and merely blinked when it was obscured by the foreign form of a wolf he did not know.

"Maiming people?" His voice almost void of any inflection, leaving the phrase sounding more like a statement. Ever since he had joined ranks with the coyote clan, Silas had hardly been the poster boy. However, the scars on his face clearly showed what some of the members of Inferni were capable of. Had he been in a different state of mind, he would have demanded what this stranger’s business with Inferni was, as they were both beyond the clearly marked borders. As it was, Silas merely stared up at the cyclops and pondered what situation might have led to the man’s missing eye. Maybe one of Inferni’s own members had maimed him, reducing his vision to what it was now.

"Who’re you?" Russian accent a little heavier than normal as he spoke this single inquisition. The usual need to protect his family, to protect Inferni, had temporarily faded away just like everything else that had been consumed by that depressing weight.

table by kahilli
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#4
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Okay, sorry about that.



The Inferni man did not immediately jump to his feet at the sight of an foreign-smelling, brutally scarred creature hanging over him. Jefferson was impressed; perhaps he stereotyped the generic Inferni creature somewhere in his head, but this one was either different than the rest or had some uncharacteristic, strong streak of patience. As Jefferson figured, most of the clan would have immediately leapt at his throat, and after running the one-eyed idiot from their territory, gone back to Gabriel and tattled. Gabriel, though he was typically mild-mannered when his family wasn't in any immediate danger, might have immediately broken into some nutcase reaction and gone after Jefferson in Phoenix Valley or sent one of his underlings to do the same... ah, but Jefferson was stereotyping. They were a strange bunch, those Inferni folk, and for some reason the analyst Jefferson found the intriguing.


"Maiming people," Jefferson repeated, securing the words. He straightened up and rolled his shoulders, glancing briefly over the dry and warped territory of Inferni. "Even the dumbest creature in this clan can grasp some of the crazy things Inferni has done. You maim people, I maim people, it happens. You lot just do it a hell of a lot more often." He stepped back, then extended his good arm down at the prone Agata to help him up.


"Jefferson. I lead Phoenix Valley." The brute's single green eye glowed as it watched the stranger, curious if he would accept the offered hand gesture, and what his reaction would be if he did not. "I came to check in on Gabriel or Kaena and saw you. Thought you were dead; otherwise I wouldn't have barged in on a place like this."

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#5
No worries! <3 +3
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The stranger reflected his words, and pale eyes simply watched the gleam of milky teeth as he spoke. Though he heard what the man was saying and could take in the meaning behind the words, eyes were too busy studying that single emerald eye before advancing to the scars that adorned the Patriarch’s body. It was clear that this wolf had seen many days and many battles, and the Vigilies silently wondered if he had ever killed anyone. Silas had his own skeletons, and he often found himself wondering what others kept hidden in their closets.

He merely shrugged in response, awkward as it was while he lay sprawled on the ground. He didn’t have any more to say on the subject; he didn’t have any more to say in general. But the man extended his hand, and it was obvious Silas wasn’t going to get out of this that easily. Their encounter would not end so simply. It took a lot of mental energy to raise his hand, and he silently feared Jefferson would be unknowingly dealt a deadweight frame, but Silas managed to will himself to rise. Perhaps now he’d be able to finish his trek to the caves, where he had intended to end up in the first place.

"Silas," civility required of him. When he found his footing, the young Russian offered a slight nod of his head accompanied by a small thanks. "I don’t know vhere zhey vould be; zhey both make zheir homes not far from here." The Vigilies didn’t even consider that it might not be tactful to reveal the den locations of his leaders to someone of another pack; especially if any relationship or alliance went sour. "I can call for zhem?" When Jefferson explained his reasoning for coming past the borders, Silas again just merely shrugged. For all he cared, he might as well be dead. These past few weeks he felt hollow, anyhow – somehow just a shell of his former self.


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#6
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Love the new avatar!



The stranger, introduced as Silas, struck the cyclops as far more than simply listless or out of energy. He considered depression, though such people commonly isolated themselves in places where onlookers, like Jefferson himself, could reach. Such facts were irrelevant. Silas accepted his gesture, pulling himself to his feet; Jefferson felt and observed an extra heaviness on his shoulders, and though the Patriarch typically would care little for a common member of Inferni, this man was different from the rest.


"I'll pass," he replied. Avoiding tangling with Gabriel this time, after intruding on their borders, would probably be best. Besides, if the Aquila's members could lay about daydreaming, the clan couldn't have been too terribly busy. Had Jefferson found such a member of his own laying about, he wouldn't have allowed it. Telling them to get back to work would have been useless, but inspiring them to stand again—even if it meant being an asshole about it—would pay off in the end. "What were you doing down there, anyway?" the brute queried, a brow raised.


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#7
Thanks! Me too! Big Grin And sorry for making this thread hard to respond to; depressed Silas is difficult.
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There was no relief to be standing and Silas wished that Jefferson would have let him remain sprawled there. Now that he was no longer alone, Silas felt some sense of compulsion to actually do something with his time. Maybe he’d actually make his way to the caves, but not before he saw Jefferson off. Silas was probably tactless at the moment, however there was some sense in the boy to not leave an intruder wandering alone in their clan lands. Shoulders merely shifted when Jefferson turned down his request, which should have left room for questions. If he did not wish to speak to either Kaena or Gabriel, then why was he here? Frankly, Silas didn’t care.

The Patriarch’s question caught Silas slightly off guard as pale eyes swept from the ground to find that single emerald eye, framed by an arching brow. Again, another shrug was offered by the young Russian. "Nozhing," he answered vaguely simple, for there was no real purpose he had settled there, except for the lack of any motivation to continue onward. Jefferson couldn’t possibly understand the unbearable weight Silas was plagued with, so he figured he shouldn’t bother explaining it. Instead, he stood and studied the scarred man in awkward silence.



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#8
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I can manage! Sorry for the delay!

The Mudbloods man resisted in his response, an empty shell of an answer Jefferson would never have allowed out of one of his own members. However, the cyclops knew it was hardly his place to ask in the first place—he'd never seen nor heard of this creature called Silas previously, and as far as he knew the two could have been more different than night and day, but what was he to do? Simply allow that useless answer to hang in the air and be on his merry way, back to Ravenclaw as if nothing happened? Gabriel and Kaena were absent, along with any other Mudbloods creature that could have reached out to Silas. Jefferson was more analytical that empathetic and approached the situation from more a psychological view than emotional; if Silas had already reached such a point of blank desperation, where would he proceed to next?


"You'd be surprised," the cyclops said, turning back to the borders, "these scars have landed me in more situations than one might think." He could not relate to everything, of course, but he could relate to much of it. He had opened himself to the Mudbloods boy, but if Silas didn't choose to cooperate, then Jefferson had no choice but to skedaddle before Gabriel showed up and found the need to try chewing on his neck. The cyclops began to walk away, waving a hand over his shoulder as he started to leave. "Well, so long, then."


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#9
No worries!
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Pale eyes hesitated on that singular emerald, before wavering and then dropping to study the scars adorning the man’s body as he spoke. He wanted to wonder about them, but apathy hung so thick in the air that it fogged any intentions to pry further. Jefferson’s words fell away without so much as a reply, and the young Russian stood merely staring. The Patriach must have thought him mental, but Silas wouldn’t have realized either way.

And then, the man was leaving and a hand was waving in departure. For a second longer, the boy remained still and merely watched. But suddenly, as if the fog has dissipated some, the boy took a step forward and tried to find his voice again. After clearing his throat, he called to the man, "Wait! Zhat’s it?" It didn’t seem right that he was off and leaving already, and without so much to show for his visit. But he had not wanted to see Kaena or Gabriel, and Silas clearly wasn’t able to offer the man anything. Yet Silas didn’t want him to leave just yet, unknowingly appreciating his simple presence there solely so he would no longer be alone. "Tell me about zhose scars, ya?" Perhaps he’d keep the man around a little longer, and Silas could take a break from the melancholy thoughts that constantly plagued him.




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#10
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He paused mid-step at the request, body stiffened and features like stone. His scars told countless stories, many he could not remember, many he wished he couldn't. A few that lined his neck were from Aurélie when she'd jumped him—and had he known it was she who had given him other scars somewhere on his body from the crime he no longer remembered committing against her that first time, perhaps the male would have just let her rip the rest of his throat apart. The scar of his eye had come from a dead man, the permanent mark on his face that summarized his amnesia. His ripped and tattered arm, slung across his chest as always, from the bitch mother bear. Several other bites and nicks from fights here and there before his collapse on Phoenix Valley borders that first time.


Everything else—including the enormous gashes on across his chest—had origins shrouded in white.


"Ghosts," he sighed. Many of those who had marked him forever had their lives consequently taken by the one-eyed freak—and that counted only for those who trespassed him after the suppression of Maluki. How many lives had the Clouded Tears prince taken? How many more had he simply warped and left to suffer, a worse end than death itself? Maluki, in the end, was a ghost himself—and so was Jefferson, the remnants of what had once been alive.


The Patriarch turned a glowing eye to the Russian, a stony presence in his grim features. "You are a sinner. Inferni is a sinful place." A pause. The eye shifted away. "...but I am the worst sinner of them all."


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#11
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A brow lifted at the Patriach’s one worded response, and Silas considered this for a moment. He had not really thought about ghosts much, except for when he was a child. The young Russos of Sobirat'sya would sometimes venture to the old skeletal remnants of ships no longer usable, and inside they would claim to find ghosts. Mostly, older pups would just try to scare the younger ones, but Silas still associated the strange, creeping feeling along his spine in those dark places with the possibility of strange, intangible spirits. Still, the boy could not see how ghosts could cause so much damage. The thought was somewhat terrifying, but Silas welcomed the emotion he felt, for it seemed as if lately emotion had been void.

The man turned back so that his one vibrant emerald eye found Silas again and the Russian remained where he was, transfixed. The man’s declaration was one Silas had not expected. Had this been any other time, Silas would have greatly protested. But now, all he could do was stare back at the scarred man with little more than astonishment apparent among his features. Was this true? Was this why his family had not joined with him; why his family had not stayed at all?

The young Russian took a step forward as Jefferson’s focus fell away. "‘ow do ve change?" He asked tentatively, as if this man held the key to recreating the family that the Russo had lost. "Can ve be saved?"


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#12
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Could they be saved? How the hell was he supposed to know? The brute thinned his eye at the Russian; was the idiot really asking a scarred, tortured man like Jefferson that? Ever since Heath and his siblings had appeared to him and accused him of rape and murder, a new reality had been opened up for the one-eyed sinner: How many more lives had he claimed? How many more had he hurt, that now he could not even remember? Was he not even to be cursed with the memories of all he had done, to live the rest of his days out remembering the faces of those he slaughtered or rampaged?


Why was he spared that pain? Why was he given the pain of an amnesiac instead, the pain of constant questioning as to what he'd done?


"Don't ask me how to change," he barked. Jefferson didn't know how to change; he had changed only when losing his memories as Maluki and regaining his sanity. Even from the start—from the second he woke up with a spinning head and crying tears from one blind eye—Jefferson had maintained his wicked morality to kill or attack only when it was necessary. He was still the loner he was then, still the pessimist. Still the sinner. "The only one who can save you is yourself. You're not me. You can be saved."


Somewhere within, Jefferson knew he was not the worst. He knew many had done far worse than he—but the fact that he had committed those atrocities at all deemed him unforgivable in his own mind.


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#13
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It was as if he were a puppy again, being scolded by an elder for something he had done wrong. The boy’s blackened ears fell against his skull, his dismay clearly visible when Jefferson barked back at him. He would not tell him how to change, and yet it was what Silas desperately sought. Why could he not tell him? If he changed, and he was no longer a sinner, would his family return to him? Jefferson had said that Inferni was a sinful place. Did that mean that Silas had to leave the coyote clan behind? Leave behind Halo, the only person he had left? Features contorted in pain at the thought, though he was grateful for the feeling. At least the hurt of losing Halo made him feel alive – made him still feel like something more than just an empty shell.

But Jefferson said he could be saved. Salvation was possible. Pale eyes rose to find the scarred man’s face, uncertainty sketched across all of his features. He didn’t know how to begin his quest for salvation; he needed a mentor, but had none. He wanted Jefferson to be this person for him, since it appeared he was so knowledgeable, but he could not be saved. At least, that’s what the young Russian took away from his words.

"Vhat ‘ave you done?" A single hand rose into the air, almost pleading in the way it grasped at the air.


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#14
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Where to begin? Where did the story of Jefferson, the scarred and terrible idiot that ruled over a land of peace-loving dreamers, begin? Did his tale start back in the realm of Maluki, far before that Maluki became the wicked, insane creature Jefferson had come to know? Back in the days he'd supposedly spent with his mother, Colibri, or when he and his adopted brother, Laruku, had lived blissfully unaware of the actual bloodline division between them, or when they actually got along at all. Laruku had to be dead now. Haku was dead. Colibri was nowhere to be found. As far as he was concerned, Jefferson was the only one left. Could he start there? Could he start by exposing himself as a loner forced into servitude?


Silas didn't need to know the things he'd done. There was no need to burden the young with the problems of the old. The egocentric that he was, Jefferson believed whatever troubled the boy hardly compared to what the cyclops himself had committed in his past. Every scar that marked his body told its own story, most of which he would probably never remember. Most of which he would surely never compensate for, like numbered tallies of his sins etched forever in his skin. Silas didn't need to know that.


"I killed people," he found himself saying, a hiss in his throat, his tongue a viper. "I raped people, and I don't remember any of it." A pause. "I'm not even cursed with the memories."

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#15
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Once again, the dark coal ears twitched and fell close to the young Russian’s skull. Jefferson could not be saved, for he had committed numerable sins. Among them, murder. Did this mean that Silas was damned to suffer forever? Could he not be saved, even though Jefferson had said that he could? "I’ve," the boy started, his voice faltering before he could continue, "I’ve killed someone." It was a past action he did well to forget, but it had been necessary of him in order to gain entrance into the clan. Perhaps that was why Inferni was such a sinful place; it had required Silas to do something unspeakable.

"Are you sure zhat I can save mineself?" How was he supposed to accomplish that? This man had struck strange emotion into the boys chest, but Silas clung to it. It had been quite some time since he had felt anything, and he would take this sensation even if it was a clouded mix of fear and pain.

As for the things Jefferson had done, Silas looked at the man no differently. Somehow, the young Russian felt as if he were on a similar playing field, though he had no way of knowing their worlds were nowhere close.



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#16
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Never before had he seen one so young in such fear of himself, in such fear of his own fate. Those with still a grasp on their youth stayed reckless as late as they could; they didn't care for their own sins, playing them off like games they would never be blamed for due to their unknowing youth or inexperience or something similar. They would regreet it all when they grew older, if they did; many who did not recognize their own sins never grew old. They were killed, like Haku, much before their time—and like Haku, they usually deserved it.


But Silas was the opposite. His worries plagued his youth, disallowing any space outside of the constant fear, or so Jefferson assumed. Green eye raised to watch him, to peer into the soul Silas was so openly bearing. The Patriarch hardly knew the Russian—and they lived in opposing packs—and yet, somehow, they were united in their sins.


"You're young, Silas," the cyclops said, dipping his head. They were similar in that sin alone, but in nothing else. Silas could not imagine the horrors Jefferson had committed, or the monstrosity Maluki had been that the cyclops himself could not fully understand. Silas would never know that. "You have time and regret. You'll be fine."


He raised his head, glaring at a skull-tipped stake just feet away. "...Your first step is getting out of this hellhole."

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#17
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Just as he had feared, Jefferson suggested that he get out of Inferni. This place was a place of sin, and Silas knew now that it was the cause of all his problems. No wonder his family had not decided to join him there (though Rurik would have never been permitted anyhow, because of his blood) and had not cared to tell him of their departure. They must have seen him as a puppet of sin, and wanted to sever their ties with him. It was only a matter of time before Anatoliy would do the same. He had to leave Inferni if he wanted things to get better, and yet that was so unthinkable. What would the young Russian do?

"Getting out of ‘ere?" He muttered softly, though mostly to himself. He considered the idea, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Where would he go if he left Inferni? Would his only option be to return to Russia, along with his family? Pale blue eyes studied the man before him, before falling to the ground that separated them. "I could never leave ‘er," his voice breaking as he spoke, thoughts of Halo rising to the foreground. No matter what this place meant, no matter what it had caused him to do, Silas could not see himself leaving the Inferni princess behind. So what if he could not be saved while living here? Silas could live with being a sinner, as long as it meant also being able to live with Halo in his life.

"I could never leave," he reaffirmed then, his voice louder than before. His gaze sought Jefferson again as he regarded the man one last time. "I could never leave!" And then the young Russian turned away from the Patriarch of Phoenix Valley, and began to run as fast as his paws would carry him. He could never leave her. He could never leave her.




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#18
I loved this thread. Just saying.

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And with rising cries and frustration, Silas was swept away. Back into the shroud of protection Inferni allowed him, for whatever reason, through death and bloodlust. He stayed for love of someone else, not for love of land; the brute could only wonder what kind of wretched Inferni creature could possibly hold such worth in the young Russian's mind, but Jefferson knew he would never find out. The Russo disappeared, departing at full speed, leaving Jefferson standing alone in the dust and snow, breathing in murder and blood at the line where Inferni called borders.


He thought of Ryan, just briefly, and how the peaceful girl had called Inferni her home as well. He had greatly respected her, and so had DaVinci—to the point that the former Savant had risked it all for her, including the safety of Phoenix Valley itself. The cyclops shook his head, heaving a sigh, and turned on his heel. If Silas needed him, needed more wretched wisdom from a wicked man, the Russian knew where to find him. As the Patriarch stepped gingerly past the skull-tipped stakes of the border, a light snowfall drifted down. By the time he would reach home, he would be covered in it. By the time he reached home, he would have willingly left Silas behind.


Perhaps that boy was a lost cause after all.

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