Ethereal.

[Added new verses to the verses page! Read below the cut to see them!]

     The Dawn Dragon could immediately tell who the other was from his power, and clearly it shocked him. “Of course I do, Anankos. What’re you doing here, I thought you’d disappeared?” It was rather nice to see him again, yes, but it was still surprising given the fact he’d been gone for so long. He liked to think of the other as family, even if there was no blood relation between them. “What happened?”

Such an innocent inquiry begged an entire slew of replies. The Dawn Dragon’s site of power was Hoshido, and his insane half made certain to keep from drawing attention to himself. Regulating everything in Valla meant that the goings-on would evade the notice of everyone---even fellow dragons. Had that duplicity won the day?

“I should’ve disappeared, Hotoke.”

“I wanted to stay in this world. And now I know what a mistake it was.” He tries to keep from stuttering his sorrow, and yet it’s unavoidable. “C-Cadros. I killed him! Do you understand...?”

『♚ ——   ❝ you must have come a long away for a vagabond.❞  she was alert, and more than suspicious even though her chest ached in protest. this man was a stranger who covered his face. he couldn’t be trusted and she wouldn’t let her guard down, no matter how much it cause the strange pain in her chest to grow. who was this?

                     ❝ i am estellise of nohr and vagabond isn’t a name.❞ 

Hearing her name almost tore an unbidden gasp from his throat. And yet, he manages to remain composed. That name struck a cord of memory, denoting a hope he hadn’t thought possible to realize. She shared a name with his daughter---and thought herself Nohrian. There was no denying that parent and child faced each other now. But that truth was a burden she was better off not enduring. 

He pauses, trying to remember what she had asked him. Ah, a name. Let’s hope she cannot sense lies. 

“Ah, you’ve some quick wit. You’re quite right. I have a name that isn’t vagabond.”

“Cadros. That’s a name I haven’t heard in the longest time.”

“He was my dearest friend, a man who held stalwart belief in me despite my ebbing strength. He alone stood by my side even as my sanity departed. Nothing changed between us. Even now, I consider him my best friend.”

And he remains silent, refusing to speak anymore. This is no lie per se; only omission. Cadros had been his true friend, never wavering. What changed was Anankos himself. Insanity had depicted his only friend as an enemy, spurring him into the worst mistake he would ever commit. The grisly act of tearing the life from Cadros---truly feeling his warm flesh part beneath his claws and fangs--had decimated the feeble thread of sanity he had retained. He had emerged from that lonely cave with the corpse of Cadros slung over his shoulder, and those that had accompanied the king had sworn vengeance. 

He remembered their yelling, their shouts swearing to garb their weapons with his divine blood. At sanity, he would’ve been ashamed, hung his head, and begged for them to bury the body of his friend first. Then, he would’ve submitted to their punishment, and allowed the guilt to churn.

However, he was feral. Bestial. And his only thought was survival. Beasts striving to survive kill threats, and the vengeful people had been rendered corpses, too. Savage energy spurred him to burn the forest around him, so that other threats would be deterred from rushing towards him. He was alone, truly alone, in a world where everyone was a hunter and he was forsaken. 

Anankos had assumed the Dawn Dragon had floated to the afterlife, as had been recommended. An elongated stay in this realm entailed precautions that many of the First Dragons preferred to avoid. And yet, he knows who stands before him. He can sense the unbridled, albeit diffused, power within the Dawn Dragon, and it’s a fact as undeniable as his immortal age. This filled him with hope. It meant there was someone who understood immortality. 

“Hotoke, was it?”

“..Do you know who I am?” 

Headcanon. My Anankos’s fake name is Brammiond. Whenever he has to interact  with any of Kamui’s comrades or soldiers (who aren’t Laslow, Selena, Odin, or Lilith, as they all know his real name), he will refer to himself as Brammiond. He lies about his identity so that he doesn’t distract Kamui’s army from their purpose of killing his other half. If anyone figures out the truth, he will confess who he really is. 

    ❝ Ututu ! Yes yes, my name — my mother, Lilith, gifted me with the name of URIEL ! ❞ was his cry as he danced across the Mess Hall, balancing on the tables like beams &&. holding fragile glass bowls on his arms. it was obvious the boisterous little boy seemed to hold an incredible sense of balance — but what was more, it seemed he was even making the objects FLOAT a bit! likewise for someone as young as him to use his astral powers for silly things like balancing.

    ❝ And yes, you you, sir, the sir whom smells like my mother ! What is your name ? ❞

∁ ━ ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ ◜@firstsilcnce◞ ♥’d / hope this is ok!

It only stood to reason that his scent was akin to Lilith’s. She was his daughter, after all. He had hoped to speak with her, but hadn’t mustered the nerve yet. Rather, he kept to himself. The approach of this vibrant, beaming boy certainly startled him. He can’t help but crack a smile, however. Seeing hope shine in those youthful eyes brought him no small amount of joy. 

“Nice to meet you, Uriel.”

He took a pause at the name he was supposed to give. He knew not to let slip that he was Anankos, and so---his pseudonym would be employed. 

a mysterious man came to visit

『♚ ——   she stared, her stomach knotting ad her chest aching. but this man was a stranger, right?❝ who…are you?❞

The question rings cruelly. How can he deign to answer if only lies are available to him? He can sense it; that she’s no mere stranger. And yet, he doesn’t want his suspicions proven. No, no. Better to assume this a chance encounter than to suffer the truth. 

“A vagabond, if you will.” 

Meme II Accepting!

Hearing such despair brought about his pity. Anankos had seen that the man had failed to fell Grima. The awry attempt likely still haunted him; no one needed foresight to guess as much. It stung him to have brought the poor exalt into his own selfish bout of problems, but bringing the man into this new world had been the only way to salvage his purpose. While he had failed Grima, he still remained capable of great feats. It was better that he wouldn’t waste away in a doomed world, and instead would emerge to help one that retained hope.

At least, those were his justifications. He brought a hand to Chrom’s shoulder, denoting his support. He used an incoming sigh to hide a sob. The exalt had been a vibrant, happier person in his visions; to see him utterly ruined by failure was perturbing. 

“You yourself once said that destiny could be changed.”

Yes. That had been another one of his hopes his visions yielded; and yet, he feels cruel for using the man’s words against him. 

Meme II Accepting!

Anankos would’ve preferred to avert the conversation. Shirking responsibility for what his insane half had done was the easiest resort. However, they were two parts of the same whole, and denying it was the equivalent of unforgivable cowardice. He lifts up his hood, just so that his daughter can get a proper gaze into his eyes. Anyone could tell from them he hadn’t lied nor jested. He gestured to the burned forest, the trees marked by destruction—and the Vallites shrouded in purple, who had rendered them thus. 

“I bear responsibility for this just as much as my other half does.”

Meme II Accepting! 

Anankos met his grandson’s gaze sheepishly. It was true. He had downed perhaps several cups of that tasty concoction already, but who could blame him? Dwyer had that talent for brewing---coffee, the mortals had called it---to perfection. It was one of his favorite accommodations. Setting the cup down, he offers up an apologetic, embarrassed sort of grin. 

“I suppose you’re right, Dwyer.”

Anankos stood aghast, upon hearing her heartfelt request. Surely, she was not serious? True, he’d whisked those capable three away, but only three. Had he been selfish, he would’ve begged all 12 heroes to join his campaign against his other self; yet he knows their ruined world can ill afford to lose every one of it benefactors. They were still making efforts to bring order to their world’s disrepair. Troubling them all with the welfare of another was a cruelty he didn’t have the heart to muster. 

How had the exalt (was that even her title now?)  become aware of his actions? 

He pursed his lips, trying to accumulate a reply. Not even his foresight had prepared them for this.

“Are you certain of this?”

Short starter call! No cap!