"Avalon needs me, despite what my mother wants to tell me. She'd rather have me leave, ensure we are still able to be there for those who will be here if Avalon were to fall. Perhaps that would make me the Prince of Ashes, like I saw when I was on that ship." The vision that came to him, a crown of thorns, it all was vaguely familiar. The Oracle was used to this feeling, of knowing something that he'd already seen, but this? This feeling was different. He looked over his shoulder at Solon, "I think much weighs on whether or not I do."
He looked at the dragon's hand, wrapped around his own, worrying for a moment that the gift wouldn't be accepted. A small bit of relief as the necklace was taken, something more than just a discarded jewel from the prince. He knew it'd be appreciated, by one who had spent so much of their life ripped away from their home. Ikaros still wished to ensure that retribution would be the dragon's, in any way he could help. The Prince gave a small smirk, though he was not one to be shy, or perhaps hesitate at all. "I have an idea," he murmured, pulling Solon close and pressing a kiss against the other's lips. Soft, a reminder that their time was not promised – not even now.
"Prince of Ashes would imply there are none left to rule; even if Avalon was reduced to cinders, all would still follow your namesake." Solon did not wish to think of a world in which Lusacan succeeded in tearing Avalon to nothingness, but indeed the dreaded dragon of the Night was so close to achieving their dark aspirations that Solon could only look towards a future where Light would prevail despite. Avalon had not been his true home for some time, he'd made many dwellings along the way, and he hoped to inspire many elvhen with this idea; that their core beliefs could not be singed and burned much like their home may come to be.
The Avalonian prince had always proven to be far more brazen than the pink dragon - settled in his feelings, often displaced and lost within them - but as the prince spoke of an idea, even then, Solon almost foolishly spoke in question of it before Ikaros' lips were upon his. A softness in which the pink dragon was unfamiliar with, something foreign to him, but something which pulled at the very fringes of his marred soul. He wanted more - and he hadn't wanted for anything in so long, a creature normally forged of sacrifice, absent of gluttony. Still, he did not wish to abstain and his lips parted as though their souls would bleed into one another, as if when the prince was truly gone, that fragments of this moment would still remain.

















