Emberwood red wine's broken chalice

The place where he was born had many people from many different lands and tongues. He recognized this one, though not the name. It was, in some ways, similar to his maker's, the one he peppered with the common tongue, but from the different ways that they greeted each other, it was substantial enough to divide the two lingually.

He absorbed the boy's appearance, both admiring him and detesting him at the same time, though it was not the boy's fault for his looks. It was simply what the boy reminded him of that brought bile from his throat. Why he caused such a reaction, and not the boy by the shore, Athan could not place. He was clearly not old enough to be the same boy he had once known, but the resemblance was there. It was palpable. My name is Athansius, but you may call me Athan if you wish, It was strange to have such a civilized conversation after so long of slinking in the shadows, striking his prey with sweet words laced with poison.