#this is my cue to say i've always envisioned sombron's hex as having a death based trigger

[rafent]

16. A memory that makes them angry

16. a memory that makes them angry ( cw; blood )

Word of Sombron’s demise spread until the entire world knew but not before his traitorous Fell Children knew first. Nil was more than aware- after all, he had been there. Standing on the same battlefield as that decisive clash, watching with bated breath for the destinies of two, and now laying his ears upon the confirmation. No survivors- no Fell Dragon, no Divine Dragon. Only shock, only the void. Only anger.

—you bitch.

“What was that, Lord Nil?”

'Lord Nil' snapped out of his reverie. The messenger was looking at him like he were an eight-headed snake- faintly dazed, his face shiny with sweat. Like he'd lacked a horse for his duties and instead staked a hard trot through the encampment to spread the news wide. Nil noticed that. Good. He had slipped; said his mind aloud, but not so loudly that it couldn’t be twisted into something else. Pinned on someone’s exhaustion, if need be.

“—can’t be right,” he sniffled on a sorrowful sleight of expression. “T-The Divine Dragon was so strong. I just can’t believe that she lost—that she’s gone, just like that. It's too unfair!” 'What's unfair is that Father lost. If you were going to die you should have done it alone.'

He lowered his gaze- the two windows into his most vicious thoughts. His spider-black lashes were wet, the space beneath his nose too as he swiped at it absently with the back of his hand. “Please. I'd like some time to myself.”

That honored request at least was nothing but honest. Behind a wall and a door slid closed, he tended to his anger. Wiped at his nose again, learning that the wet feeling he'd attributed earlier to tears and mucus had been a subtle welling of blood- the body's reaction to stressful news. Or not. His nose had likewise bled when Father's body struck the ground, too.

He flicked the thought away like a bug on his finger, choked beneath a perplexing ocean of others. Because there was sadness too, even if it were merely an undercurrent swelling beneath the greater tide of his hatred. Because no mirror was forever impenetrable; each one had a crack, chipped by age or some blow harsher than any other, and perhaps for him this was that moment.

The Fell Heir's lips pressed together tightly. His heart a compact ball of fire and fury that seared the inside of his chest, its gem-studded surface unbearably hot to the touch. He gazed inwards into himself and the reflection wasn't so clear anymore- he couldn't tell what parted his truth from his lies. Was it hatred that he felt? Sadness? For Father? For her? Both? He didn't know- couldn't know. It stung, Nil knew alone. It burned, Rafal seized his chest with clenching, searching fingers as if he could tear the root of it all away. It hurt. His mind and body felt the same.

The blood of his nose dripped down his chin, right onto the hungry dragonstone.