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2412, Crescin 5, Reshpe
Nyxis was awakened by the scuffling sounds outside his room.
He shrugged. It shouldn't be a big deal to him. He's lived through much more. Then, he froze. Oh yeah, he was in the Ice Capital. He shouldn't be hearing noises outside his room because of the thickness of the ice walls.
But he could. By no means was it gentle.
Someone was shouting, bellowing words that sounded like orders. Nyxis couldn't make out the exact words but he could tell that it was important. Did something happen while he's sleeping? What's going on?
He rolled out of his mattress, wincing as his body slowly came to life along with his brain. Did it just get colder? In the Capital? He gritted his teeth as he exercised his arms that seemed to have frozen overnight. He grunted. Oh, that hurt. Remind him again what he was doing in this freezing place? Ah, he's here to get his throne.
Which Kennen Jarmez, who was apparently the Heir to the ice sprite throne, wouldn't agree to give to him. He tried for the past few days to at least hold it but the heir was adamant of not even letting him see the dark corridors leading to it.
Nyxis sighed. He stretched and rummaged around his bare room for a change of beige robes and trousers. He found his boots stashed by the shadow-leaden door.
Last night had been an endless day of training. Nyxis had been so tired he just threw his boots off and drifted to bed. And, really, the ice sprites weren't kidding when they said training. They meant training.
He finished dressing, grateful for the added warmth of the added layers in the form of a loosely-sleeved overcoat that hung to his knees. It's an ingenious thing, this robe.
His hands reached for a standing mirror conveniently placed at the table beside his bed. He winced as he slammed it down against the ice table's surface. He resisted the urge to check his hair on a mirror because that meant he's going to see the state of his face yet again. Denara might have given him a chiding of a lifetime—damn, he could still feel that slap—but that didn't mean he had accepted things the way they were. No. There's no way he's going to just go down quietly on this fight.
He sighed as he retrieved his satchel beside his bed. He rummaged inside it. Thank the gods he could remember where things were. Ever since he lost and regained his memories in Denara's cave, he had been too careful of checking whether he still had them every single morning he woke up. Call it paranoia but Nyxis liked to refer to it as keeping it safe.
Nyxis frowned when he took out a jar containing the cream he used to try and fade out scars. So far, it wasn't working. Every time he psyched himself to look into a mirror, he could see that not much had changed. His scar wasn't going away any time soon.
He bit his lip as he scooped an ungodly amount of the cream with two of his fingers and worked to spread it across his face. He had come to remember where his scar had curved and shot past due to the number of times he applied the cream into it. The mirror served no purpose now.
