Storm Watch Butte gunslinger I

If he did not feel like a prince, it was simply because he was one no longer.

He wished he had followed Europa when she had left, sensing something was wrong before everyone else did. Then he wouldn't have had to face humiliation at the borders of Florentia - then somehow things would have turned out better.

For a short while he indulged himself in the fantasy of being a stateless and fearless explorer, the Magellan of his generation. But with every mile traveled he became more and more disgusted with himself, with the so-called royal blood in his veins. At least Magellan had a kingdom to come back to.

Inwardly, he shuddered at the speed at which Myros had collapsed, less an empire than a fever dream, and laughed into the wind. Granules of sand collected between his teeth.

The sound of a stranger's howl instantly transmuted all the self-loathing inside of him into giddy vertigo: this was what freedom truly was! His lineage - generations of toil and bloodshed, ingenuity and creation - meant nothing here, and what a fantastic revelation. In that moment he loved the red-eyed man for his deed of alchemy.

He howled as loud as his lungs could allow, and braced himself against the screaming sirókos.