Anteros | Here I Am, This is Me

The boom of angry thunder shook the cave. It echoed around the halls of it, like an angry dragon's snarl in in recesses of it's belly. Syn lay motionless, her sides heaving in exhaustion. Her vision cleared and she saw the driving rain outside, the seemingly minuscule raindrops were churning up the earth, and a flash flood was roaring by. Murky, muddy brown water roared, eating up the earth, and all the sounds raised Syn from her dazed state. She rolled onto her knees, blinking, hearing someone speak.

"... did well, Priestess."
Cyrodiil's hissing voice met Syndicate's ears. The chrome Poecilia mare stood over her, her muzzle we with rainwater, dabbing Syn's sweaty forehead. "Your foal was delivered safely." Cyrodiil's near-black eyes were almost invisible in the dark, but her imposing horns rose above and around her head, a silhouette of them flashing as lighting burst over the torn sky. "What.. is it?" Syn asked weakly, turning around to see her foal, who lay on the cold cave floor with a blanket of dry grass over it that Cyrodiil had placed while Syn was unconscious.

Cyrodiil did not answer right away, which was not like the mare. "In truth, Priestess," she hesitated, "I am unsure. It smells neither of a colt or a filly."

"Cyrodill, you lose your touch so soon!" Syn snapped, hobbling to her feet. "It must be one or the other, you fool." Cyrodiil stepped away from Syn as the mare spun, her tail lashing the side of Cyrodiil's face. The midwife merely grimaced in response, but bit her tongue. She knew better. With a rough shove of her head that caused the foal to cry out, Syn urged it to stand.

The foal was pale yellow, with a calva much like Syn's own. His body was plain, and small black horn nubs graced his brows.

He was the striking image of his father, the priest of Aether, the Asiatic stallion Gallifrey.

Outwardly, there appeared to be nothing amiss with the foal. But Syn rubbed her muzzle over it, confused, as she realized Cyrodiil was right. The scent of this creature was neither cold nor fill, but some sort of mixture of both. Syn stared at it, and it stared back at her. She looked over the body of the foal, and saw a stallion's features, yet no sheath was present.

"A miracle. A gift from Ares herself." Syn whispered, suddenly her countenance changing to a loving one, and gently nudged her foal to her side to nurse. The foal suckled eagerly, and Syn continued to inspect the foal, and realized soon after that the foal was a hermaphroditic one, a result of the dangerous crossbreeding between an Asiatic and a Mountain Ballator. The foal's legs shook, and it lay down soon after, seemingly unable to stand for long.

"Cyrodiil;" Syn commanded, her voice shouting to cover the booms of thunder that caused the foal to jump. "This foal is weak. But it is my own flesh and blood; he is the representation of Hannibal which Ares has given me. A chance to raise my son in a way Ares wishes she could have raised her own -- think of it, Cyrodiil. A child of two prophets. A miracle child."

Cyrodiil listened to Syn's raving with silent reverence. The Priestess' views, oftentimes, seemed extreme and far-fetched, but who was she to fight against them? She loyally followed Syndicate and Ares, and took Syn's words to heart. She sidled up to the foal, who was shivering now on the ground, and covered him again with grasses. "Yes, my lady." Cyrodiil replied after a long moment. "I will treat... them... with utmost respect."

"Good." Syn said, laying down next to her child, who blinked up at her with near-black eyes. Syn's mind reeled with the plans of this foal's future - she could see it now as she lay. This foal would bring Gallifrey to his knees, this time, for good.

"Anteros;" Syndicate whispered. The name caused the foal to glance up at her, the wide eyes drooping now with fatigue. "You are Anteros. You are the child of mine, and of your father's, and with you I will bring him to the lowest point, only to raise him to the highest, to burn him with the fire and knowledge of She who Burns - and you will follow me into the battle of worlds."

By the end of her speech, Anteros was fast asleep, the pale sides of the foal rising and falling. The innocent face was peaceful, but it was not to be so for long. For unbeknownst to the small foal, the future Syn had crafted for Anteros was one of seclusion, of darkness, of pain. Anteros slept peacefully now, and would remember that first night of sleep as the only night slept without the terrors of dreams.