At Hero's Bay

Pure Light

𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𓄹 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𓄼

Nothing about Y/N Skaraieth seemed human, despite her general features.

Her skin constantly glowed faintly under any form of light—sun or moonlight, spurring Steve to wonder how much more impervious it was compared to a human. Her expressions constantly twisted and turned in every which way, and at this point, it was impossible to decipher what she was thinking or if she held any remorse towards the beaten young man tied up and limping by her side. She did not vocalize her thoughts, but Steve ultimately knew that no words in the human tongue could not support her plethora, as she herself was not willing to describe them.

The more bizarre part of her lack of human traits was in her eyes. Natasha once compared them to a cat's or a billy goat with their irregular shapes that weren't all quite round, but Steve noted that they appeared thick and jagged—nearly hexagonal, yet it wasn't a trait they needed to trouble or worry themselves about. The darkness, however, the restive storms brewing behind her delicate guise and sharp pupils did not leave a lot of hope for Steve that she was the best person to lead them back home—even despite this newcomer, Cyreus Saeles, who could vouch for her.

It was better that her attentive gaze was trained on their path and not a freshly rotting corpse lying in the red snow, Steve firmly reminded himself, continuing to amble onward beside Natasha. Her wound, although cauterized with a good amount of dragon-fire, was in desperate need of proper healing that Cyreus Saeles was more than happy to provide. Apparently, he was the son of some high-born lord of some kind, but Steve couldn't help but wonder if he was all talk—considering he appeared on the battlefield empty-handed.

Steve had never seen such an intricately ruthless nature up close and personal before. The Nazis were scattered and strikingly different—it was another kind of ruthlessness that was downright barbaric—and he had saved the refugees that had suffered through their said barbaric methods. But he did not see resentment behind their pain—grief—that trait remained in the scarce few, and it was almost pitiful that Y/N was one of them. She had almost murdered someone in cold blood, but he had seen and understood that she was willing to back down and be true to her word.

'She wasn't like that anymore', she said. What did that truly mean? What kind of person was Y/N like before all this—during Pangea? Steve decides that it was only best to wonder, not to speak. At the zenith of midday, Cyreus Saeles points towards the headwaters of a nearby ravine that stretches across and around a visibly curved expanse of land.

"We're going across this ravine here and traveling south to reach Norrath's borders. It's not that much farther, but we should still be cautious."

"Should we be worried about any more...'mythical' creatures?" Tony asks with his brows knitted into a furrow, visibly perturbed by the mention of an opportune and beastly threat, "Maybe like, uh, I don't know...a bloodthirsty yeti? Or a ferocious werewolf? How about a Loch Ness Monster? You guys got any of those running around—or swimming around?"

Cyreus chuckles lightly, "You're a loud and troubling bunch. I assure no beast nor man will want to quarrel with any of you. Princess Y/N has decided to put her faith in you, despite who or what you three might be. Whatever she makes of you, I don't mind. But, please, be wise and understanding here. These are absolutely trying times."

While all initial hostility in Cyreus was lost, Steve couldn't help but teeter on the possibility—deciding to blame the suspicions on their nature. He couldn't help but wonder if all Amisians were as volatile as Y/N displayed to be, somewhat worried about the destruction that Cyreus could cause for a man of his seemingly gallant caliber. Wherever he was leading them to, however, sounded better than the palace that was in literal ruins.