Saint Cichol @st-cichol - Tumblr Blog

the-progenitor-god:

Sothis had never really spoken of this place to many. It was place where the transformations took place. Yet, others who had come here and not returned were stuck here. As living proof to others that the worse is bound to happen. As a mother, it is the most terrifying thing to place in her child. Yet she knew that Cichol would be able to withstand transforming. And here he was, standing before her.

Her wings evaporated from her back as she walked towards her young son. Her hand reaching out to gently place her hand on the being before her. She was so very proud of him for trusting her. It seemed nothing out of the ordinary happened as well. She was so very proud of another one of her children withstanding this.

“I am so very proud of you Cichol.. Your form is.. immaculate. I told you everything would be alright. Your power is not overtaking you, and you haven’t rampaged or anything. You contained your own strength and I, as your mother, could not be more proud of you.” Her smile was kind and soft, yet beaming with pride for her child. She ran her hand along the scales of her son, making sure that there were no internal injuries to him.

Sothis had found nothing short of normal. He would be experiencing pain in the morning from the transforming, yet it’s easier when there’s no threat present.

“Can you try to take off and fly for me now?” Sothis glided herself back down the stairs, to prepare herself for the initial take off. “I will join you once you are in the air, Cichol.”

Young and naive to the workings of the world, Cichol was blissfully unaware of the darker side of transformation. Just as contorting one’s body to take on a new form granted great power, it was also tied to great risks. Other Nabatean children before him, unable to withstand transformation, perished on the very land he stood upon. Some from the exhaustion of shifting form, others from losing their minds and becoming nothing more than a rampaging monster who must perish to cease the destruction. It was both failure and success that made this place so spiritual. The energy success left in its wake served to ease those undertaking their first transformation, while the presence of failure marked the location as a graveyard in equal measure.

Within the confines of a completely foreign body, Cichol found himself somewhat at a loss. Now that his human form was temporarily lost, he had gained new limbs and abilities he had yet to master. Uncertain but determined, Cichol took a step forward in his transformed legs. Moving what used to be his arms and legs were simple enough, though he stumbled in his early steps as he learned to balance a new body. His tail and wings failed worse, flopping awkwardly along with him, as he had yet to understand how they interacted with the rest of his body. Had anyone accompanied him but his mother, he may have felt embarrassed by his lack of control.

Before he could allow such embarrassment to fester, a hand touched his face, and Cichol leaned into the comfort provided by his mother. Transformation was arduous, even to a young, gifted child full of energy, and he was encouraged by her words of praise, even when the land beneath him trembled with every step. There was still fear within him, fear that he would bring destruction in his new form, but there was peace in knowing what was broken could be healed.

“Fly?” He stiffened, craning his head somewhat in confusion. With newfound focus, he began to move each appendage one after another...wiggling his toes, moving his neck, shifting his legs...but he still found himself uncertain of his wings. It wasn’t quite as innate, but determination kept him motivated to try. After a few moments, he finally managed to twitch his wings and tail and he gazed down to his mother.

"Wait! May we practice first? I am...not so certain of myself.”

#the-progenitor-god #x(trk. family moments)#x(v. child cichol)#x(e. the goddess walks among us)

velvetrabbitheart:

She makes a sound of awe when Cichol describes his first transformation. Instinctively she looks to her hands. One day she’ll be able to transform into a giant rabbit. She’s seen her parents and neighbors shift and has seen the older children race each other while in rabbit form. A smile forms on her face. To be able to run much faster than she already does! What a wonderful thing to look forward to.

“When I learn how to transform, I’m going to learn to run faster than a horse!” she exclaims more to herself than to Cichol “And maybe I can visit you in your homeland, too!”

She hears a familiar voice call out to her and then she remembers she promised to help set the great table. Hopping towards the cottage door, she turns to the guest and smiles.

“I have to go out now, Mr. Kiki but I’ll see you a bit later, yes? You get ready in the meantime.” she smiles a great toothy grin “Welcome again to our Warren!”

The child was beckoned away by a voice he did not recognize, but it was a voice clearly known by Panne, as she was off within moments of hearing its call. Cichol smiled at the sight of her enthusiastic beam, before collecting himself from the bed and rising to his feet. Though he did not have much he needed to undertake to prepare, he did wish to ensure his presentation was appropriate for the celebration. The invitation to join the Warren for such an event was an honor, an honor he sought to properly recognize with respect.

Approaching a washing basin and a mirror, Cichol dragged a nearby stool until it was directly before his reflection and seated himself. Noting the objects near the basin, he retrieved a knife, striking it against the bottom of his shoe to test its sharpness. Soaking the cloth in the lukewarm water, he soaked his neck, jaw, and chin until it softened. Then, he began to run the knife along his skin, removing the subtle that had begun to grow along his skin. When his task was completed, he rinsed his neck once more, and changed into robes designated for the celebration. After a few looks into the mirror, Cichol was satisfied, and he exited his accomodations.

Many Taguel were scattered about, collecting or otherwise supporting the construction of the celebration. It was impressive, watching the Taguel work together to accomplish their task, and Cichol admired their efforts from afar.

#velvetrabbitheart #x(trk. pamba mesa)#x(v. young cichol)#x(e. post academy)

thecallinggale:

Seteth seemed to bite the line cast, allowing him a breath of relief. Even when he initiated such conversations, he found such serious and emotional discussion tiresome and, eventually, just uncomfortable. More confrontation saved for later in favor whittling a tale to whisk them in a new direction. Some embellished details did no harm, because it wasn’t as if he hadn’t zapped more fish than usual. It wasn’t as if he was the only liar in the room.

Not being the sole silver tongue around served as an issue on its own. Iron sharpens iron, and in his time forging weapons, silver could do the same. Énna smiled brightly all the same, white blades catching light from behind his lips. Not to bare fangs in a threatening way, rather coax a fellow predator closer. The stirring of some ancient hope that Cichol would somehow be as cheerful as he once was left a mere vague sorrow to grasp. The path ahead was one way only, and there was no use reflecting now.

“Of course, Your Graceliness. You are ever so merciful!” He said with a sweeping bow; Sarcasm drizzled from his words. In a fluid motion, Énna lifted his arm again to wrap around his younger brother’s shoulders. “And with your ever abundant kindness, I must ask you to extend your hand to me,” his easy smile strained, “and assist with the fact I have no idea how to actually make that. And that the kitchen staff doesn’t like me for… various undisclosed reasons.”

With a laugh, he stepped around Seteth, clasping his hands behind his back and backing toward the door. He opened his mouth to continue, but faltered as he looked at Seteth in full. His eyes flickered across his frame and all at once, it was hard not to take into account how much he’d grown. Physically was a given, yet did the man know how differently he held himself? This was no Nabataean child, nor the grief-stricken slate from war. A new form, a new Cichol to learn about. Seteth.

He shook off his brief silence as he turned to the door. The teasing hilt of his voice was still present and persistent. “If you’d like to be of assistance, shall we be off, Serac?”

Ever a man of careful discernment, Seteth was well aware of the variety of bait that had been draped before him. It was aversion, a distraction, a deflection of the uncomfortable conversation and the vulnerability it had forcibly surfaced. Though he knew the lure had been crafted with certain cunningness he found vexing, the orderly man ultimately decided to grasp it. Accepting each and every challenge presented to him would be unnecessarily exhausting; even the strongest Nabatean in existence was not free of fatigue, after all. And so, he played into Énna’s hand, but he was by no means a puppet imprisoned by his strings.

As expected, Énna once again demonstrated his inability to undertake any endeavor without the use of that sharp tongue Seteth detested. Had he not already been emotionally exhausted, he would have swiftly delivered a proper scolding for his childish behavior. At least, he had planned to spare him a lecture, but his vexation immediately surged the moment Énna placed his hands upon him. He whipped away from him curtly, turning to face him with a raised hand and parted lips. But before he could lay down the hammer of judgement, Énna continued his string of speech, admitting he was completely unaware of the simple preparation of tea.

Both his expression and pointing finger deflated, only allowing his expression to showcase disbelief briefly. Within seconds, he composed himself, straightening and brushing off his shoulders with his hands as if Énna had left behind dirt upon his touch’s departure. When he lifted his expression, his brother’s analytical eyes were studying his form. He couldn’t discern his attention, not from his gaze alone, but it appeared as though he were sizing him up. A great eagle respecting a lion from afar.

Énna’s intentional misnomer breaks him from his thoughts.

“Serac? Is your mind truly that crippled from so many years of solitude that you cannot retain a mere name?” Seteth replied, stepping out of his office with an expression of annoyance. “Have you truly failed to prepare a single cup of tea? How have you ever managed to get along for so long...” He mumbled mostly to himself, serving as a guide as he walked through the halls. Many students turned from him as they traveled; a behavior that did not escape Seteth’s notice.

Upon their arrival to the kitchen, Seteth begun his search through the tea leaves cabinet, occasionally passing a glance to Énna in silence.

#thecallinggale #x(trk. dust rises)#x(v. seteth)#x(e. academy)

theenlightenedblade:

Shifting from foot to foot, Byleth watched Seteth’s reaction, uncertain. However, that didn’t need to last long, as his words were clear enough. Byleth continued to fidget for a few moments. “Honestly,” they began, a little carefully, “I… do not know how I accomplished this in the first place.” They remembered falling, and trying to activate the power to turn back time, to get themselves back to the ledge. But perhaps it was the attack that had struck them which kept them from being able to do so?

Instead, they’d… thought they had found it, and brought that forward instead. And then they’d…? Apparently turned themselves into a dragon. Somehow. Rhea had done it, did that mean…? If they could have frowned properly, it would have been on their face as they thought deeply. Perhaps they could try to find that power again?

Sitting back on their haunches (or, sort of, they looked a lot more like a human toddler than a dragon) they closed their eyes. A few deep breaths as they searched for something in them that seemed… right. They found the Divine power, but sorting through it found it only extending to when they woke on the ground. Troublesome, but not what they were searching for. Something else, something new was there just near it. Perhaps that?

As they had done as they fell, they reached within themselves to touch the new power, feeling it welling in them immediately. It swelled quickly–too quickly. Jerking their head away from Seteth, half-fearing what it was trying to crawl out of their throat, their jaws parted reflexively and they opened their eyes to see a massive line of flame extending high into the air. Not unlike the fires that had been unleashed on the battlefield, actually, by Rhea. This time, however, it was fired harmlessly into the air, though seemed to explode with a bit more enthusiasm at the end, raining some dust and dirt down in the distance.

Byleth snapped their jaws closed, the closest thing to mortification they could accomplish on their face. “…Do you. Have any tips?”

“You...do not recall the process undertaken to undergo transformation to begin with? Troubling.” Seteth replied pensively, his calm facial expression marred with wrinkles of confusion on his forehead. While he could certainly understand a lack of knowledge if one had yet to undertake an endeavor, but this was something that had already been done. The critical voice within his mind sought to doubt the truth of Byleth’s words, but the grave tone in which they spoke was enough for him to believe in their sincerity. Frowning, he placed a hand onto his chin, running his thumb along his chin. Providing an explanation on transformation was...challenging. It was difficult to explain to a Nabatean child in which dragon forms were the norm, let alone a situation with an individual that never reasonably expected to transform.

Lost in his thoughts, the sound of crackling captured his attention, and he lifted his head to witness the sight of Byleth spitting fire into the sky above them. In response to the chaotic scene, Seteth merely raised his eyebrows, his expression a mixture of both surprise and annoyance.

“Byleth...I requested that we do not bring attention to ourselves.” He explained once more, raising his hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose in vexation. It was clear, so very clear, that Byleth had...absolutely no idea what they were doing. Releasing a sigh, he drew his hand away, his expression softening. He supposed he couldn’t fault them. There was no doubt in his mind that this change was a result of something Rhea had done to this human. This was no innate ability.

“Apologies, Byleth. It is not fair of me to be short with you,” He replied, crossing his arms as he collected his thoughts, “when you are searching for the power to return to a human form...you must seek the human within you. It is...difficult to explain. When one seeks to take on a draconic form, the individual harnesses the very presence of draconic blood within them. When one finds it, it is accompanied by...a certain warmth. Transforming into a human is a similar process, but instead, you must locate what makes you human within yourself.”

#theenlightenedblade #x(trk. per ardua)#x(v. seteth)#x(e. post academy)#x(Dragon Byleth AU)

rani-ki

happy father’s day to the best green dad

st-cichol

@let-flayn-cook

#x(art. reflections)#ferpxooc #father's day

A small leather bound book had been left on the desk inside of Seteth's office, quite plain in comparison to the many complex tombs that were littered about through the room. Empty of text inside, only a small bloom of forget-me-nots and a note can be found inside, reading "Happy Father's Day xx"

Much to Seteth’s displeasure, his attempts to reason with Rhea had failed once again. Though it had only been the two of them within the meeting, behind closed doors and away from prying ears, Rhea had refused to offer him her intentions regarding Byleth. Entering his office, he gently tossed the bound stack of parchment in hand onto the nearest surface in defeat. Raising his hand to the bridge of his nose, he pinched at his skin, carefully navigating around the chairs in his office toward his desk. No matter how much he implored Rhea to explain to him Byleth’s explainable changes, she stubbornly withheld information. There was nothing more Seteth desired than to trust his kin, but as she continued to uphold such dubious secrecy, he found her behavior more suspect.

He drew his hand away from his face as he reached his desk, slowly lowering himself into his chair with a steadying sigh. Seteth was frustrated, exceedingly frustrated, but he couldn’t allow it to affect his behavior.

Glancing at the surface of the desk before him, everything seemed to be in order...that is, all but one object. A compact book with a leather cover stood out among his thick tomes and string-bound manuscripts. With a look of suspicion, he opened its pages, only to discover a small patch of familiar handwriting and a vibrant blue flower.

A rare smile overtook his features and delicately, he lifted the flower by its stem.

“Thank you, Flayn.”

#let-flayn-cook #x(ask. aide answers)#father's day

let-flayn-cook:

Held tight against her father’s chest, just as she had been hundreds of times times as a small child, her emotions surged, tears turning from a trickle into a stream as she clung back, just as she had a thousand years ago. And truly, she felt as small as one, the grief of a thousand years, that Cethleann had tucked away for so long, left her completely vulnerable in Cichol’s arms and the anger, that he dared to blame himself, only made her grip tighter.

“It is not your fault,” her voice was muffled, drowned out by the wool of his clothes and softened by her sobs, she had to repeat herself, turning her head to the side and forcing her voice to sound louder than the crashing waves. “You would have done all that you could…” There was no doubt in her mind, the man she knew to be her father was her rock, unwavering in his determination and willingness to protect his family. She knew he did everything to keep her and her mother safe. But not even he, a pinnacle of strength, could protect them from the atrocities of war, nor the gruesome fate of their people and their family.

But even then, knowing the reality that nothing could have been done, knowing that the blame was only on those who attacked, Cethleann still carried the same grief and regret in her heart. That she could have done nothing. No amount of logic or reasoning could fix that. Only the passage of time but perhaps just reminding each other would be enough, until that day came. “.. You could have done nothing.”

His daughter's tearful assertion that the fault for her mother’s death was not his own fell upon deaf ears. Rationality twisted by grief and guilt convinced him that had he taken more precautions, been more attentive, and fought at his full strength, he could have ensured her safety. Instead, he had allowed overwhelming exhaustion to wear away his cautiousness, granting their assailants an opportunity to attack them when they were unprepared. The blame for his wife’s demise, regardless of whether or not it was sensible, would always be his burden to carry. It was her very passing, his helplessness to save her, that drove Seteth to protect Flayn with every fiber of his being, and to never repeat such a mistake again.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Seteth ran a hand along his daughters back, attempting to soothe her as she cried. Though he sought nothing more than to allow his own emotions to flow, he remained composed for the sake of his daughter. He had always been a pillar of support for his family, and even now, he would maintain that support, no matter how difficult. Seeing her tears, the very picture of anguish marring her face, made him only feel all the more helpless. All he could do was hold her.

Despite his lingering feelings of doubt, Seteth decided against arguing with her openly. Denying her assertion would only serve to upset her. Instead, he allowed her to cry out her grief, sorry, anger, and all the other feelings that had surely been bottled up inside her for far too long.

When her cries quieted, he returned his verdant eyes to the monument before them, which served as the marker for his wife’s grave. If she were here beside them in the flesh, surely he would be scolding them now, for crying over what she would consider spilt milk.

“Perhaps...we could stay here a while. There are plenty of fish, and it seems to be largely abandoned, for now. This...could be our coast.”

#let-flayn-cook #x(trk. our coast)#x(v. seteth)#x(e. academy)

kriskrisinc

noo Seteth don’t go feral you’re so sexy haha

st-cichol

@let-flayn-cook

#x(art. reflections)#ferpxooc

huntersvarley:

Seteth’s gratitude almost felt strange to her. Perhaps it was due to her little social interaction with him overall, but his soft gaze was both unfamiliar, but not unwelcome to Bernadetta. Upon his words, her embarrassment began to fade, giving him a small, still nervous smile. Although she wasn’t sure if she could ever feel truly comfortable socializing, at least Seteth was relatively easy to talk to.

Bernadetta watched in silence as Seteth took the drawings from her, examining each one carefully. As he did, her self-consciousness began to nag at her again, and her fears of her art not being good enough proceeded to surface. Her expression notably fell, and she began making small whines of fear, unable to mask her doubts in herself. Her gaze fell to her lap, legs quivering from the once again rising tension. She failed to notice Seteth remembering his days with Indech, unable to see his wistful expression. When he began to speak once more, Bernadetta took a sharp breath, stopping herself from crying out as her gaze returned to the man before her. With her sheepish smile returning, she watched as he laid out the drawings neatly on the desk.

“Ah, um, thanks. I just really like how well Saint Indech and Saint Cichol work together, despite their differences. D-did you not want me drawing Saint Cichol?! Ohh, you messed up already, Bernie…”

Though he couldn’t claim to have anticipated Bernadetta’s reaction, Seteth supposed the student’s sudden abject concern for her actions wasn’t completely unexpected. Based on his observations, it seemed that whenever the student had even the smallest doubt in confidence, she reacted with anxiety. She was swift to criticize herself, quick to apologize, and Seteth idly wondered how the poor girl would go about life with such rampant worries. Brushing those thoughts aside, Seteth shook his head, his expression both calm and thoughtful.

“No, not at all. I am merely pleasantly surprised at his inclusion,” He reassured her, raising a hand to his chin, “in truth, I had never considered including illustrations of Saint Cichol alongside Saint Indech. However, you included him because you felt Saint Indech’s relationship to Saint Cichol made a great impact upont he reader, correct? If that is the case, then I now understand how crucial it is to include him.”

Lowering his expression, he retrieved the manuscript that was resting adjacent to the drawings, turning about a quarter of thickness into the pages. Then, Seteth began thumbing through the pages, searching for the portions of the story that reflected the scenes Bernadetta had drawn. Finally, Seteth found the first place in the manuscript for which he was searching. Dividing the pages in half, he turned the relevant portion towards Bernadetta, while using his other hand to indicate a specific drawing.

“This illustration aligns with this chapter here, correct?”

#huntersvarley #x(trk. tale of two saints)#x(v. seteth)#x(e. academy)

velvetrabbitheart

Panne nods eagerly, her ribbons bouncing.

“If I can transform, then mama and papa will allow me to go with them to the human settlements! I always wanted to go but they said no until I can shape shift.”

Her eyes widen in curiosity yet again. For some reason, when she first saw Cichol she immediately assumed he always knew how to transform. It never crossed her mind that he had to learn how to.

“How was your transformation like? Did it hurt? I’m not really afraid if it does because it can’t hurt that much can it?”

Upon hearing Panne’s words, Cichol’s gaze softened, and he extended a hand forward to gently pat her head. Though he had yet to have children of his own, he was able to easily sympathize with her parents’ reasoning. Traveling to settlements outside your own, particularly to race wholly different from your own, was inherently dangerous. The promise of acceptance and peace were mere words. History told many instances of betrayal and failure to visit prepared for the possibility of danger was pure folly. Based on the child’s description, Cichol assumed that her parents sought for her to be able to transform as a precaution for such dangers. As a Taguel, she would be able to flee far more swiftly than upon unshifted feet.

“There is no need to fear. I am certain your parents shall allow you to accompany them on their excursions when the time is right,” He replied, hoping to offer her a bit of encouragement, “And when that day comes, I assure you it will be well worth the wait.”

The question of transformation came as a surprise to him, but he paused only a moment to formulate his response.

“No, I do not recall any pain, nor do I experience it now when I do transform,” Cichol explained, attempting to eliminate the fear from the child immediately, “upon my first transformation, I felt the very presence of my draconic blood flowing within me, accompanied by a radiating warmth.”

#velvetrabbitheart #x(trk. pamba mesa)#x(v. young cichol)#x(e. the goddess walks among us)

theenlightenedblade:

per ardua || @st-cichol

Large eyes blinked at Seteth as he mumbled to himself, and they weren’t honestly sure whether they were expecting an answer or not. If they had no idea, how in the world would Seteth know? Seteth, who didn’t even know about Sothis or their power. They wished that the young woman hadn’t disappeared; she would surely be able to explain this, or at least provide some form of guidance to them.

They nodded a little, though they knew the question was more rhetorical than anything. It moreso helped to ground them, letting them wrap their head around the whole ordeal. Sharing some sort of ancestry with Seteth, though, that led to something like this? Was Seteth going to suddenly reveal that he was actually a Goddess-damned dragon in disguise, too? The idea almost made them laugh, but from hilarity or anxiety they didn’t know.

“Okay.” Without thinking, they pushed themselves up as if going to stand, only to catch one of their wings and fall with a yelp, sprawling, off to one side in a flailing mass of limbs and tail. It probably would have been hilarious, had the situation not been so serious. Luckily they didn’t continue to thrash after their fall, instead just lying halfway between their back and side in a mixture of embarrassment and shame. Well. That clearly hadn’t worked. For a few moments, they chose to just lie where they had fallen, quietly flexing each of their limbs individually. They couldn’t quite make sense of their extra appendages, their head struggling to wrap around the concept while simultaneously being able to move the muscles without having to focus too much on it.

Weird. And a little frustrating. Rhea had made it look easy.

After a few more moments, they slowly managed to roll onto their stomach without anything catching where it shouldn’t, then lifted up onto their… arms and legs? It felt a little like crawling, except they weren’t on their knees, and they felt… quite silly. But it seemed to work, and they managed not to make a bigger fool of themselves. “Okay,” they repeated, sounding more confident than they felt. “I’ll… follow you.”

At the sight of Byleth, no, the situation he had been dealt, Seteth drew in an exasperated breath. By no fault of the former professor, he was once again being saddled with the responsibility of tidying Rhea’s intricate messes, all while being completely clueless as to her ulterior motives. Prior to the war and Rhea’s capture, Seteth had attempted to coax information regarding Byleth from his sister, only to be met with extreme resistance. Though he did not know the details of Rhea’s secrets, he suspected that her current interest in Byleth was tied to the strange, disturbing anomalies Jeralt had reported in his diary.

Frustration welled within him, but he maintained a calm composure. It was exceedingly vexing, piecing together intention with results in an attempt to uncover the details he lacked all while carefully maintaining the intricate lies that were accepted as truth. After all, if he unraveled the fabric of the Fodlan Rhea had fashioned, it may prove too damaging to the populace for recovery.

Tucking away his thoughts for the moment, Seteth lifted his head only to witness Byleth scuttle onto wobbling feet and collapse back to the earth. As the vibrations settled beneath his feet, the dragon before him gazed at him with an expression of defeat. Had they not been at the bottom of a canyon, attempting to keep Byleth concealed in their draconic form, Seteth may have been amused. Instead, he found himself concerned. He knew from experience that navigating a new body was hardly an easy feat. Though it had been thousands of years since his people’s genocide, he could still imagine young Nabatean children transforming for the very first time. They would wobble, spin and fall like dreidels until each step became as natural as drinking water. Children had the advantage of adapting easily to their environment, but for an adult...he was uncertain if it would be a skill Byleth could adopt swiftly.

Seteth watched with confusion as Byleth rose to their feet, his eyebrows rising as the only indication of his bewilderment. Did...Byleth intend to follow him in dragon form? Raising a hand to his face, he pinched at the skin between his eyebrows, attempting to exercise patience.

“Byleth...it would be prudent for you to transform into a human form. It would be far too difficult to be inconspicuous in such an enormous form,” He paused, realization striking him, “perhaps...you do not know how to return to a human form?”

#theenlightenedblade #x(trk. per ardua)#x(v. seteth)#x(e. post academy)#x(Dragon Byleth AU)

the-progenitor-god

Family Moments >Cichol

st-cichol

the-progenitor-god‌:

Sothis held Cichol tight under her arm, resting her chin on-top of his head. Her wings gave another mighty flap as she spotted a cliff high up. It was much higher than any other cliff that had overlooked their quaint area. Only Macuil and Indech had been brought here by Sothis, it was a spiritual area to them in a sense. The sense that this is where the transformations had happened.

Setting her feet to the ground, her wings vanished in a blink of an eye. She knelt some to let Cichol’s feet touch the ground, she ruffled his hair in her hand gently. He was so aspiring to her; someone so young and well gifted in his strength willing to overcome his fears to once do something his other brothers had done. She stood and looked over the cliff, still able to keep an eye on everything in the area, she needed to make sure everything would be okay still.

Looking back to Cichol, she gave a reaffirming nod, “I promise you this Cichol, any harm or destruction that comes from you all, my lovely darling children, I will heal the entirety of it. Every time one of your siblings had hurt themselves, I am always there to help heal you. So, if you feel confidant enough, you can try to transform if you truly want to. I will not pressure it into you though. But just know, that I am right here, right by your side.” She knelt to Cichol again, looking into his eyes, she saw so much promise in him.

He was her most strong child, one that probably was scared of breaking not only himself, but breaking things around him too. His surroundings, the people close to him, it was a horrifying process to someone so small. Something so simple to her, as if just to say to transform was something so huge to someone just doing it for the first time.

She didn’t want to pressure him at all.

“If you don’t want to transform either, we can just sit and look over everything off the cliff too, Cichol.”

The moment the pair landed upon the grand mountaintop, Cichol became acutely aware that this place extraordinary. While it shared similarities to other peaks he had visited in the past--vast greenery, pockets of rampantly growing wildflowers, and pines that stretched toward the heavens--there was a intangible presence in the atmosphere that commanded his attention. It was seemingly abandoned, lacking another soul aside from the both of them, yet, it also felt as though they were not alone. Cichol found it difficult to describe in words. Taking a few steps froward, his sandals brushed against a stone path he hadn’t immediately noticed. Rustling leaves mirroring the sound of rain captured his attention and lifted his head, watching as the great boughs of the trees above him swayed in the wind. This place...it was instilling a sense of peace in him.

Returning his gaze to the stone path before him, he noticed a stone staircase a short distance from him, leading to an enormous platform. It was a construction that clearly existed before his birth, yet, it somehow felt familiar to him. Walking along the path, he approached two stone dragon figures that appeared as though they were guarding the staircase, their expressions fierce. Curiosity soaked him and with minimal hesitation, he trotted before one of them, stretching his hand forward. His fingers touched its rugged cheek and he cupped it as if it were among the living. After gazing at it for a few moments in silence, he allowed his hand to fall, and ascended the stone staircase that had awaited him.

Arriving at the peak of the platform, Cichol studied his surroundings, noticing an enormous dragon statue tucked in each corner of the structure. Half of the statues were calm, while the remaining were in combat, all frozen in time. Is this a place for transformation? The child wondered, swallowing the lump of nerves that had formed in his throat. From where he stood, he cast a gaze back to his mother, who remained at the bottom of the staircase. Their eyes met for a moment before he turned away from her, approaching the center of the platform. Cichol did not seek to disappoint her, nor himself. Holding fast to the promise that she would heal whatever he would destroy, he closed his eyes.

The child released a steadying breath. Transformation required focus. The user needed to draw out power from their very blood, which would allow them to accomplish the fantastic feat. He focused and focused...then, a warmth began to radiate through his body. He opened his eyes as he began to undergo transformation, his cherubic features twisting and contorting to take a new shape.

Within seconds, a dragon stood in the spot that once housed a child.

#the-progenitor-god #x(trk. family moments)#x(v. child cichol)#x(e. the goddess walks among us)

the-progenitor-god‌:

Sothis’ smile was bright as she helped her little one build the castle of dreams of sand. She watched as his little hands patted the sand and she looked out to the waters briefly. She had thought of the idea of everyone trying to build a massive castle together. How it would go with Macuil and Indech and even Rhea. Would they be fighting? Or would they happily cooperate together to complete the goal?

Sothis’ hands were gently patting the sand to help create the pillars of the castle. She stood for a brief moment before bending down to pick up the small pail for water. She smiled to Cichol and pointed to the waters. “I’m going to get some water to help the sand clump together better, okay? Stay here.” She didn’t have a fear that someone would try to take her child, or that sometime and would happen.

Yet, something was always lingering in the back of her mind that something could happen. Surely her going 10 feet away to gather water wouldn’t be too bad. She would be quick. She waved and jogged out to the waters, gathering water. Her head turned slightly to see Cichol still sitting there creating the tall pillars for the castle.

Having fetched the water, she had returned to his side. She set the pail down and knelt beside him. She watched him with curiosity, wondering what could possibly be going through his mind. “So what now, dear? The pillars look amazing! I suppose the walls to hold them up comes up now?”

As an obedient child that took comfort in the structure of rules and order, he nodded as his mother’s instruction without hesitation. Once his mother had departed with a small wave, Cichol returned his eyes to castle and continued to carefully form the pillars that functioned as its corners. Utilizing both hands, he smoothed out the surface of the formations he had created, giving them chiseled cubic edges and mirroring the architecture of the buildings within their home, Zanado. It was simplistic style of construction, but it was eloquent in its own right, and economically friendly to the earth beneath them. Drawing his hands away, Cichol rose to his knees, gazing at his work with satisfaction. A child’s effort hardly created an expert result, but it was progress all the same.

Resting back onto his bottom, Cichol waited patiently for a few moments, before he began to twist his body in search of his mother. As a child untarnished by the cruelties of the world, he was completely ignorant to the very dangers Sothis pondered in silence. He had never experienced the harsh flavor of betrayal, the sting of serious injury, nor had ever faced endangerment without the assistance of his family. Clashing with his siblings in trivial arguments also resulted in resolution, with the wounds of themselves and the earth healed by his mother. There was no reason to fear; only curiosity motivated his search. Finally, his mother returned, and he met her gaze with a thoughtful one of his own as he dipped his hands into the water she had retrieved.

“We must make a center, Mother. The part of the castle where everyone lives,” Cichol explained, pushing sand into a large mound at the center of the pillars, “enough room for you, me, my brothers and sister.” He turned, hooping his arms together and dragging more sand towards him.

#the-progenitor-god #x(ask. aide answers)#x(v. child cichol)#x(e. the goddess walks among us)#ferpxislandgetaway

Thread Check 06/2020

Oops, looks like I forgot to do this last month! Please note that my checks are partially used to help me visually see where I’m at (and to show others where I’m at) in terms of threads~ Not just to poke and prod at slower moving threads, which is why my list is comprehensive!

A starred ( * ) thread indicates the thread has not been responded to in 30 days. If this is the case, please let me know if there is anything I can do to move the thread along. (If you are on Hiatus, you don’t have to worry about this!)

Please note I will automatically drop threads after 60 consecutive days of thread inactivity. I may drop threads sooner, based on my discretion. If you would like to drop a thread, please let me know. I promise I won’t bite!

#x(ooc. dismounting the wyvern)#x(thread check)#x(chk. June 2020)#ferpxooc

mantareidraws

Seteth says that Indech is good with handy work, so I had a little fun playing with that concept 🤭💕 finally got to draw Macuil as well 💚💚💚

st-cichol

@thecallinggale

#x(art. reflections)#ferpxooc

the-progenitor-god‌:

Sothis stood to her feet and let her be led by her little one. Cichol’s eyes were full of amusement and intrigue with every little detail. Truly this being the first time he’s ever been to the beach, he probably wanted to experience every little crevice of the beach. The others were old enough or not around to be safe. If anything, she could always be by their side in a moments notice.

“A pail with water will be sufficient for making one. Have you felt how the sand feels in between your toes? It’s lose, so we’ll have to pack it tightly into buckets and other pails to make the structure tight and sturdy.” Sothis exclaimed as she lifted her little one up into her arms then ontop of her shoulders. He wasn’t big enough for her to topple over but these were the times were she could just be a mother to her son. Not a god. Just a mom.

“Oh! I see where you’re set up. This will make a wonderful spot.” She stood infront of the area and knelt down so that Cichol could hop off of her shoulders. She fully knelt then and clasped her hands, “Alright! You tell me what to do, okay?”

Of all of Sothis’s children, Cichol had never been an overly expressive child with regard to his emotions. However, in the moment, there was a radiant glimmer of excitement in his eyes not only from the journey to the beach alone, but because his mother had chosen to entertain him. As she spoke of the sand beneath them, he looked to his feet, wiggling his toes as if to test its malleability. He then lifted his head as she offered him instruction and a rare, warm smile overtook his features as he nodded in understanding. Though he wasn’t as talented with his hands as his older brother Indech or able to utilize magic to assist the endeavor as Macuil could, he was determined to put forth his best effort to create a memorable sandcastle.

Abruptly, he was jarred from his thoughts as Sothis lifted him from the ground without warning, placing him upon her shoulders. Cichol did not fear any height, but he clung to her as if failure to do so would result in a tumble to the earth. But ever swift to adapt to his situation, he adjusted, feeling comfortable as he surveyed his surroundings from his new vantage point. As they drew close to the location Cichol had described, he stretched his arm outward and pointed to the spot, as if it weren’t obvious and required indication. Once his mother knelt down, he hopped off her with ease, landing in the safety of the soft sand.

“Okay!” He replied, nodding eagerly, “we should...make the pillars! A castle should have pillars.” He said thoughtfully, though he was unsure how to begin. Dropping down into the sand with little hesitation, he scooped some together with his hands, beginning to form a small mound.

#the-progenitor-god #x(ask. aide answers)#x(v. child cichol)#x(e. the goddess walks among us)#ferpxislandgetaway

the-progenitor-god

Family Moments >Cichol

st-cichol

the-progenitor-god‌:

Sothis gave the simplest of nods. Yet it was unable to be seen especially with how high up they were and with the wind gliding over them. With another flap of her wings, they were kept in the air, soaring high above the grounds. Sothis squinted her eyes some to look far down at the humans that were just under their small village.

They had to be building something every day. And every day it made Sothis question their decisions more and more. She had to trust them that they were doing the right actions though. She had to trust more than just the people that she created.

Shaking the thought from her mind, she held onto her child tightly with one arm and stroked his hair with her other hand. Soothing the little one as they flew. “Yes, my dear Cichol, I will always continue to heal everything. From the smallest of cuts on your finger to a whole fire being set ablaze by your brothers. Everything gets healed eventually.”

She wanted to make sure that Cichol always knew that she would be around to protect him and his siblings. Something that Sothis took an oath to her heart for. And if the pesky humans below them caused any harm to her children, surely there would be a riot at hand.

“I am not going anywhere, there is still much to teach all of you.”

Though Cichol still carried doubt as any apprehensive child would, being in the warmth of his mother’s loving arms and reassurance was enough for him to believe her for the moment. Without a fully matured mind to conduct himself, the child wholeheartedly depended and relied on the guidance of his mother to thread the safest path on the walk of life. Despite fearing his own strength and the ambiguity of transformation, Cichol placed full faith in her words and promise that all would be healed, regardless of the destruction it may endure. It was far from uncommon for a child not to believe that his parent could fix anything that he has broken, but Sothis was unlike most mothers. She was a being of great power, beyond Cichol’s full comprehension. She didn’t merely repair all that was broken, but was instead capable of creation and renewal.

“...even if I destroy the whole forest, you’ll fix it? You’ll know it was an accident? If I hurt someone, you can make them better?” Cichol asked meekly, his voice soft and his expression thoughtful. He was still extremely hesitant to undergo transformation, but knowing that his mother would not be angry with him for destruction, and would repair his mistakes comforted him, giving him a small dose of courage. Cichol sought to be able to transform as his brothers could, to use his strength for protection rather than destruction. He only feared failure and his inability to control himself to lead to unintended injury.

“If you can fix them...then perhaps...I shall try...”

#the-progenitor-god #x(trk. family moments)#x(v. child cichol)#x(e. the goddess walks among us)

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