Asterius falters in his next step.

It’s Ilona, Celestia’s favorite little princess, even the OG Asterius had a soft spot for her. Something he understood, Ilona had been one of his favorites in the novel, she was a brat for sure, but an endearing brat. (And she always reminded him of Beth.)

[Host! The strain on your body-], and the fact that the System’s window is faintly blurred even though it's hovering inches from his face is a bad sign, even if she is the beloved goddess of Celestia, Asterius needs to leave.

He continues walking, not looking back.

“Brother!” she protests again and Asterius knows she’s following him, mostly likely with the two sun gods following behind, like two overprotective shadows. “You can’t make a prophecy like that and leave! We have yet to grieve for Father-,”

“Indeed,” he agrees, not turning around. He knows that if he turns to face her, he will cave. So, he keeps his eyes on the exit, trying his best to keep a steady and calm aura. His eyes sting, the strings of fate still entwining around him. He had tried to dismiss the Weave, but the System had glowed red. Informing him that if he dropped it before he left, everyone would know something was wrong with him, and it could be counted as so OOC that he might be "terminated" right here. 

He doesn’t even remember what she was saying, so he blurts out something that sounds like an aloof excuse to leave, “I am not mourning.”

There’s a spattering of stunned gasps, and one notably loud curse of “hells-,” before the ballroom falls completely silent. It might have been a bit harsh, but it certainly didn’t warrant a reaction like that. He was just trying to brush her off so he could keep leaving-

[Host!] The System says, screen not red, but black at the edges, [We Need To Leave.]

And at that terrifying warning, he discards the guilty thoughts about Ilona and continues walking towards the exit, trying his best to not appear rushed. He can apologize to her later, right now he needs to get out of here and stop the Weave of Fate from tearing his own destiny apart.

Cadeyrn watches the scene unfold with rapt attention.

He was no God of Fate, but he was wrapped so tightly in Asterius’s magic that he was able to catch glimpses of the truth he obscured from everyone else’s view. So, he sees the God of Stars alter the strings on the little godling. How he cradles the soul close, in an almost loving way as he tears its destiny apart, ripping the divinity of the Royal Sun out of it. And from the frayed threads, he strings together an even more complex and beautiful fate. This new god of stars was even more bold and daring than the original.

“Excuse me,” he says, batting off the hands and remarks of the angels surrounding him. Newer angels were always curious about him, filled with offensive questions and ideas about his kind. Not to mention the opportunistic gods who hoped that through him they would learn more about Asterius and might earn themselves favors for “playing nice” with the God of Fate’s pet demon. Over the centuries he’s gotten pretty good at playing the perfect, unthreatening, gentleman demon that they want him to be. (Though he makes sure to note what each god says about him, every insult, violent prank, and degrading comment filled away deep into his brain. Once he was free, he would make them all pay.)

But his god was leaving, in quite a hurry it looked like, and the last thing Cadeyrn wanted was to be stuck in this glittering castle of lies and blood any longer.

So, he makes his way to the exit, lingering just before the hall that would magically whisk them back to the palace gates.

Asterius walks with his head held high, the strings of fate twisting around his shoulders, stretching out into the room like a lattice-work set of skeleton wings. He’s even more beautiful in this form, less perfect, leaking power and authority into the air like an open flame.

He makes a show of bowing before the god, and the pleased smile stretching across his face is the first genuine one of the night.

Asterius just glances at him from the corner of his eye, brushing past him like a ghost. Disappearing with a shower of golden magic as he’s teleported outside. 

Cadeyrn straightens, turning to follow, only to stop as he catches eyes with Heaven’s Vanguard. Cadeyrn is not sure what possesses him, he has spent years perfecting his identity as a well-behaved prisoner of war, but something compels him, and he tilts his lips up into a smirk.

Solveig reads it for what it is, a taunt.

The temperature of the whole room jumps a few degrees. And the Celestials that had just started to relax, snap back up, glaring daggers in Cadyern’s direction. Despite being the center of nearly all of the heavens' ire, he only finds amusement in the situation.

‘Just the reaction I wanted,’ he thinks, carefully adjusting the star-shaped broach on his jacket, letting it catch in the light and sparkle.

The temperature jumps once more. 

Glancing up he finds Solfrid and Ilona holding Solveig back. Heaven’s Vanguard’s red hair is ablaze, spidering webbing cracks break in the white marble around him, flickering flames burning in their jagged edges. Solfrid is giving him a deep disappointed look, and it’s a humorous thought to think the perfect prince of Celestia ever had any expectations of him at all. Ilona is wearing a similar expression to Solveig, and if he didn’t know better he would think she’s always been a god of war, the fierce look she's directed at him is certainly intended to kill. A pity really, that the Celestials rotted what could have been such a beautiful and wonderful goddess.

He knows he is playing with fire, quite literally in the case of Solveig, and he’s going to get burned, but there’s a quiet voice in the back of his mind, encouraging him to taunt the Celestials farther, to stake his claim.

He pauses, not entirely sure where that idea came from. ‘Claim on what?’ he asks himself. He finds no answer in his own thoughts. 

No longer in the mood for this little game and tired of playing with such a predictable opponent, he leaves.

Asterius is waiting for him at the base of the golden steps. The god nods towards him once, before spinning on his heel. Each step he takes causes one of the silver strings of fate to phase out of exitance one by one, as he slowly works himself back into his Vessel Form. A pity really, Cadeyrn never does tire of gazing at the Weave, but he can indulge another time.

Now back into the afternoon light of the heavenly rings, a strange sort of clarity creeps up. Cadeyrn should not have taunted Solveig, having his personal attention would only make his life worse. But he had made a show in front of all of Celestia. He had put his mission, his life at stake for what? ‘A juvenile taunt?’ He was better than this, what exactly had compelled him to act that way?

It frustrates him that he can’t locate the answers he needs.

And then there was the matter of Asterius. He had banished the godling that should have been the heavens' next emperor. Cadeyrn wasn’t fully sure what Asterius’s plan was, but he needed to get to the bottom of it. For his own mission to succeed he needed the Royal Sun, which meant… he was going to need Asterius to tell him everything about his “prophecy,” whether he wanted to or not.