#tnacious

“Tsh …”

For now he was hungry as he ate. Not the sharp, gnawing hunger of a predator, but the slow, methodical hunger of a grazing creature, his flat teeth grinding the tough meadow grass into pulp, his thick tongue pressing each mouthful against the roof of his mouth in rhythmic, unhurried motions. The taste was nothing like the delicate pastries or candied fruits he'd once demanded as a World Noble. No spices. No richness. Just chlorophyll and earth, the faint metallic tang of dew clinging to each blade. His muzzle twitched, whiskers brushing the soil as he lipped another clump of grass. A fly landed on his shoulder. He flicked his tail absently. The motion was instinctive now, as natural as breathing.

“Ugh.”

The sun bathed his dark fur in warmth, and for the first time in ages, his mind found peace. No reports to submit. No subordinates to reprimand. No Celestial Dragons to appease. Just the breeze weaving through his mane, the faint buzz of bees in the distance, and the occasional ripple of his skin as a gust discovered the moisture beneath his coat. He felt no longing for the respirator, the resin bubble that had encased his head like a hideous trophy. Now, air flowed freely through his broad nostrils, filling his lungs with pollen, warmth, and vitality. No filters. No rules. Just being.

As he continued to graze. His dark lips, now soft and pliable, no longer the thin line of a man used to barking commands, picked another tuft of grass with unexpected gentleness. Each tug sent small quivers through the muscles of his neck, a movement that would have seemed grotesquely exaggerated in his former self but now moved with effortless elegance. A ladybug made its way across his muzzle. He snorted, sending the tiny creature tumbling into the air, its delicate wings flashing red before it disappeared into the swaying greenery. As he looked up and saw something white, in the distance, as his eyes narrowed, another horse?

“Who are you?”

@tnacious

The music drifting through the grand hall above them was muffled by layers of marble and gold, softened into something distant and almost dreamlike by the time it reached the lower lounging chambers reserved for slaves. Laughter echoed faintly overhead alongside the clinking of crystal glasses, the Celestial Dragons indulging themselves without restraint while their possessions waited below like discarded ornaments between summons. Stella sat curled upon an oversized velvet chaise near one of the enormous windows overlooking the Holy Land’s glowing gardens. The fabric beneath her was soft enough to swallow her whole, her legs tucked carefully beneath her as she leaned against the armrest. Silk ribbons and jewels adorned her body in ways that felt more decorative than practical, chosen entirely for Shamrock’s amusement earlier that evening. Even now, she still smelled faintly of the expensive oils the attendants had rubbed into her skin before the gala began.

Around her, dozens of other slaves lingered quietly while some spoke in hushed whispers, others stared blankly into nothingness. A few sat perfectly still, trained so thoroughly they resembled statues more than living beings. The blonde’s fingers absentmindedly traced the stem of the untouched wine glass resting in her lap when movement near the opposite end of the chamber finally caught her attention. The male slave entering looked entirely out of place among the trembling servants and downcast eyes. His blond hair caught the warm amber light spilling from the chandeliers overhead, soft strands brushing against tanned skin marked by exhaustion hidden beneath composure. The slave collar and Figarland marking on him was impossible to miss. Her blue eyes followed him carefully as he settled himself across the chamber, one arm draped over the back of a lounging chair as though this humiliating little corner of the world bored him beyond measure. A servant quickly approached to offer him a drink as another slave nearby whispered his name. Marco, and recognition flickered immediately within Stella’s mind.

This was Cosima Figarland’s favorite slave at the time. A faint knot twisted low in her stomach at the realization. Shamrock spoke of his cousin with thinly veiled irritation whenever her name surfaced among the family gatherings. Stella had learned early that the Figarlands devoured one another just as viciously as they ruled everyone beneath them. Up close, he seemed taller than she anticipated, broad-shouldered and relaxed despite the heavy gold chain resting against his collarbone like mock jewelry. The faint scent of smoke and sea salt clung to him beneath the perfumes forced upon the slaves for the evening. Most slaves avoided unnecessary interaction entirely and speaking too freely often led to punishment depending on their owners’ moods. Above them, the music shifted into a slower melody while distant applause thundered faintly through the ceiling. Stella glanced upward instinctively, wondering which Celestial Dragon had demanded attention now.

Shit, shit shit he'd caught her with her hand full on in his pocket reaching for his money – she should have known better than to try pick pocketing a guy who everyone was actively making a path for every time he wandered through the crowd, but she'd thought he looked like an easy enough mark and hadn't looked closer.

She darted down a tight alley, hoping it was small enough to keep him from following as she clutched the few coins she'd managed to snag to her chest. This had better be enough for a damn lunch, she thought darkly. Otherwise this was going to be even less worth it. Another turn, this time ducking into an entirely different alley.

@tnacious ~Plotted starter~

The forest breathed around Onuris as moss clung to the roots beneath his sandals, and every branch overhead stitched together a ceiling of green shadow that swallowed the late afternoon sun. He moved carefully between the trunks, spear balanced across his shoulders, listening to the quiet chatter of unseen insects and the distant cry of hunting birds. The world smelled of wet bark and river mud. It was peaceful in a way that battlefields never were, and that alone kept him wary, but then he heard water. It was not the roar of a river, but the delicate rush of a narrow stream slipping over stones. Alongside it came another sound, the soft snort of an animal which Onuris slowed immediately. Through the hanging ferns ahead, he spotted the hindquarters of a horse standing knee-deep in the stream. Its tail drifted lazily now and then, silver-white against the darker woods, while its powerful back flexed beneath a coat that gleamed almost silver in the filtered light. The creature drank without fear, head lowered out of sight beyond the curtain of leaves. A lone horse this deep in an untamed forest was strange enough, but a horse without a rider was stranger still.

Onuris smirked faintly to himself. The gods had granted him many talents, but patience had never been among them. He had crossed deserts on camels half-dead from heat and ridden war chariots through storms of arrows. A wandering horse hardly seemed worthy of hesitation. If it belonged to no one, then perhaps fate had left it here for him. Themale stepped silently through the brush, and the animal did not react. Closer now, he admired the breadth of its back and the unnatural sheen of its coat. Muscles shifted beneath its skin like flowing water, as not a scar marked it, and no saddle rested across it either. With practiced ease, Onuris planted one foot upon a smooth rock and swung himself upward onto the creature’s back. The instant he settled his weight onto it, the world changed. The horse reared violently with a shriek unlike any earthly sound, which was sharp and metallic, almost ringing through the trees like struck bronze. The short man grabbed instinctively for its mane as the creature rose high above the stream, water exploding beneath its hooves, and then he saw it.

A horn which was long, spiraled, radiant as it burst from the creature’s brow like polished ivory catching moonlight, though no moon yet hung in the sky. The horn shimmered with faint silver fire, illuminating the mist rising from the stream. What he had mistaken for a horse’s pale mane now flowed like liquid starlight around its neck. A unicorn. Onuris’ breath caught hard in his chest because for the first time in many years, Onuris felt genuinely unprepared.