Empty.

Ah, yes... it was a familiar feeling. It wasn't the void of his abdomen that was eating itself inside out, but it was that hole in his chest. If he lifted a paw to his breast, he felt as if he could not find a single heartbeat. There was nothing there. His mind was most certainly not empty.

It was full of static, and it was the only thing to fill the silence of the Caves. They had been sleeping again. It wasn't new to him. Something that was new, however, was fear. His fear that his mistake had caused the caves to fall silent once again, for the vast stores of magicka to ebb away. What kept making it return?

Every muscle within him shuddered as he struggled to move. Eythan clutched his abdomen quietly, curling up tighter. He felt sick to his stomach again. He needed to eat, but he knew his body would just reject the precious nourishment he needed and cause him to upchuck it later. It always did. Trying to eat the bones that surrounded him made him unbearably sick to his stomach, as expected. He thought that... perhaps he was like his father and was made to eat bones. Almost instinctively, his mind recoiled. No, he wasn't like him. He wasn't a King. Kingship ultimately lead to death. The old man had been too busy mourning his fallen kingdom to worry about him.

If he blamed Azazel for his own death, why did he still feel so guilty?

Teeth gnawed at the insides of his stomach and he groaned softly, trying to convince his limbs to at least let him get a drink. Of course, they refused, and he fell with a soft THUMP! into a pile of bones. He'd really fallen far.

He didn't even remember returning to the bone pit.