Soren
The eyes are on fire
Soren walked beside Aithne, clad in dark pants and a white linen shirt, covered by his we’ll-worn, brown leather jacket despite the warmth of the season. The decision to come here had not been his, not really. After the chaos on the beach, he’d hesitated, uncertain. But Aithne had wanted to come, citing how their new goddess would encourage their free will—and that had been enough. So he followed, not by skyship, but on his own wings for most of the journey and composed himself, prepared for what was to come.
Like Aithne, Soren carried the weight of a name he had no desire to keep. Legacy was a chain they’d both learned to slip. He toyed with the ring of keys, tossing it into the air and catching it again, the metal flashing as it spun. A grin, sharp and fanged, flickered across his face—aimed at Vox more than anyone else, though he let his eyes linger for just a second on Colt and he winked at her.
“The keys to the castle,” he said, head tilted with a raptor's lean, the predator in him too close to the surface these days. “Didn’t want them in the first place.”
And just like that, he let the weight of inheritance fall from his fingers.
Soren brings his keys from his childhood home/grandparents house in Stormbreak.
Like Aithne, Soren carried the weight of a name he had no desire to keep. Legacy was a chain they’d both learned to slip. He toyed with the ring of keys, tossing it into the air and catching it again, the metal flashing as it spun. A grin, sharp and fanged, flickered across his face—aimed at Vox more than anyone else, though he let his eyes linger for just a second on Colt and he winked at her.
“The keys to the castle,” he said, head tilted with a raptor's lean, the predator in him too close to the surface these days. “Didn’t want them in the first place.”
And just like that, he let the weight of inheritance fall from his fingers.
Soren brings his keys from his childhood home/grandparents house in Stormbreak.
You are the unforcasted storm
