Desreal: I remember the darkness you never saw.

“This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.
The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown.:
The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout 'Save Us!'...:

...and I'll look down, and whisper, 'No'"

Memories were what kept him going, and yet they were also the bane to his existence. There was so much history that the flame stallion held. So many memories that he almost wished he could go to Hypatia to burn them away. But things were not so simple. If only they were. He thinks, darkly then, of all which had spurred him into the way that he was. The wars, the murders, the places… There were faces then, to push him more, faces of ghosts, spirits that presided him always and gave him both strength and weakness when it was needed. Illuiette, Hawthorne, his mother, and of course…Lily.

His mind was a mess, perhaps some dark presence of foreshadowing, perhaps not. Only time could tell, but for now he moved through the mountains, descending and making his way into Desreal. Andraste flew just beside him, and Nicodemus found himself in awe of her for the first time. He noted the way that her wings curled and uncurled from her, and the snap in which they met the air, flames spurting out with every beat. The way that her oranges and reds stood defiance to the night’s sky. He loved the autumn nights, the harvest moon….

Before long he was there, coming to a halt beside the tree that had been given to her, the roses that were forever white and alive. Hawthorne’s death place. It was the first time that he had been there since it had happened. Why he felt such an impulse to go to such a place was unknown. He smiles, leaning in close to the flowers he knew were Skylar’s, touching them ever so gently, then pressing his muzzle curiously into the beautiful tree and inhaled. Formaldehyde. The stallion thought the name with a smile, recoiling so as not to burn the beautiful memorial that was Hawthorne’s. He thinks of Arrakis and the beauty that had been Jaeger Reef as his eyes lift to the sky. Where was she now? Did she think of them, her home burning away into ashes that he would embrace? They are lost without you. He thinks darkly.

There was a rustle in the darkness then, and only his ears swivel backwards, eyes still upon the stars. Lily would have loved such a night. The approach of the other went almost unnoticed. Nicodemus was thinking hard. How could he still yearn to be the savior after all the hopelessness that had consumed his life? Because it is the right thing to do. He feels the mind of his Phoenix close beside him and smiles. His name is whispered, and still there is a thoughtfulness about him that for once made him look the part of Scholar and not the warrior that he perhaps should be. His ears twitch again, and his eyes still do not leave the sky. Flames reached out to the stranger, as though to acknowledge his presence, and he would note then the piercing black gaze of a wolverine from the stallion’s back. But the stallion and the Phoenix seemed to not even see him. The eyes of the Phoenix were something unheard of, brooding with intelligence and fierceness. And they were the very same eyes that somehow the stallion held, indicating that the two were linked in ways that he and his familiar could not ever be. But there, in all the harsh intensity of the flames, was a sort of sadness.

He was back then in Enipeus. Back in a time of his youth and when blood was something that he craved more than peace. The memory takes him so suddenly, so harshly…..

“Lily, baby, what is it?” He embraces her then without question, holding her tight, and if he had hands he would have brushed her tears from her beautiful face. “I’m sorry.” He whispers now softly into her ears, “I don’t understand. Who did this to you?”

The red man furrowed his brow in concentration, trying with all his might to understand what caused her to feel this way. A sudden thought came to mind, a vision of perhaps a jealous mind. His compassion dissolved then so very suddenly and now he did not embrace her, but clutch at her possessively. The grip he had round her tightened and the soft look in his eye now turned to stone. “There….” He could not finish, anger and jealousy clouded his mind. Something in him snapped then, and now it was not jealousy, but rage.

“You tricked me.”
Nicodemus felt the rage. But then there was more….

The soft look returned to his eyes again once he looked at her there, crying. All of the other things washed away as quickly as they had come, and now only tender and deep love remained. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean that. Really, Lily, I do love you. I will always love you and for that I am sorry.” It is hard to find the right words. “I can’t help it that I love you. I wish I could, I really do.” A very sad look becomes him now. “What can I do to make you happy Lily? I’ll give you anything, everything. Just tell me.”

……

And then his Lily…beautiful Lily….she stepped back with such gusto it frightened him. And she spoke those words that would forever echo in his heart. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

The words of the strange boy bring him back, and it is with a rekindled curiosity that he looks at him. And what he finds is unmistakable. He knew who this was, he thought bitterly. The child that was Benedictions. The tangible evidence that Illiana had not loved him in return. A visible stake through his heart. Nicodemus’ flames leapt, and the wolverine let his hair stand on end as his gaze still pierced the stranger with something a little more than curiosity now. His eyes hardened to almost stone. “Saga.” He whispers the name so that perhaps he would not hear it clearly.

“You are alive?”

And he still remembers seeing them together, pain piercing him like never before….

SEER

**NICODEMUS**

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us.