Blackwater Islands beg that I succeed

The beetles had added a new buzz to their cacophony, that eternal humming choir that beat iridescent wings through his chest.

Oh, oh dear mother. Oh how far you had fallen, and oh how high you would rise. Her hum was most beautiful of all. Oh dearest mother, how far did you have to go?

No matter. No matter at all, dearest of the dear mother. He carried you now.

Her voice hummed in his ears, carried on those buzzing wings, drowning the voices of the others.

You will return.

He had never denied his mother her wants, and so he gave his god wife a single goodbye, and slipped into the night, giving her the free rein she wished over their subjects. The god-king had work that had yet to be done.

The islands where he grew up. They hovered against that sunset like a bloated corpse in a shallow pool, water in its lungs, bloodshot eyes towards the sky. Pelagius stood on the beach for a mere moment, before he slipped into the waves, easy as a crocodile.

He pulled himself ashore some time later, drenched in seawater and all the better for it. 

You will call.

That he would, mother dear.

His voice rang high against the setting sun, setting the orange parts of him ablaze, but making his ocean dark eyes ever more mysterious.