Text here. "Speech." Thoughts.

Finally, they began. Well, in Khavur's case it was beginning... again. There was something good about having gone once before, something encouraging. Something bright about being reborn; skies made bluer, or blue yet again; stars that retained familiar traces but were ultimately not the same. Weirdly enough, it was not the repetition but the brightness and splendor of this room, now magnified with Maximus's presence, that served as the reminder: this was Khavur's first life, perhaps their last -- who would know? Alright, so the repetition played a part, but the brilliance spawned a gratitude that led to that same old fear of life and death. Perhaps Khavur had just been in the mood for such mental acrobatics these days. It would take time to pull away.

Although, this journey was no break for Khavur's lessons. Quite the opposite actually! This was supposed to be a learning experience. And what was more important for a Reaver to learn about than life and death? Was that not what the name "Reaver" entailed; some sort of relationship to both subjects? ...Wait. Wait, actually, hold on, what did "Reaver" mean? "Reaver of the Dark Above" was a pretty silly, longwinded title -- the kind Vargas seemed to enjoy most. This Reaver had always sort of dismissed it as a nonsense title, meant to conjure up some kind of obscured yet horrifying image, so they had never considered the individual meanings of each word. What exactly was one supposed to think upon hearing the word "Reaver"? It could have been "poisoner" since Khavur had... well, okay, "Venom-er"- ergh. Camouflager. Spike...er? Two-head-haver-- okay. Point is- was- Vargas could have titled Khavur after some obvious physical trait they had, to make it a little more obvious, for those who heard it and the one who possessed it. That title was a responsibility to fill for Khavur, after all! Fulfilling the role of "one with venom" or "one with dog noses and cat whiskers" was a lot easier than fulfilling the role of just... "reaver".

Now suitably stumped, the "Reaver" halted its pace and decided to ask its companion. Aloud, since they were physically here, Khavur wondered: "What does it mean?" They, at first, hastily assumed that Maximus would simply understand this contextless question, since they had each other's thoughts on speed dial... but after less than half a second, Khavur realized clarification was probably still necessary despite the link, and so: "My title, I mean. The one M- Master Vargas gave to me." For now Vargas maintained that Mastery in the verbal space, but soon enough it would most likely be forgotten. It was hard to retain his influence when Khavur was so ready and willing to cast it off.

There was a lot about Vargas's influence Khavur could think about. The "spark" philosophy Khavur had immediately accepted, had no choice but to accept... and then recklessly "taught" to the labradorite and the zoisite. And for what? Was it not Khavur's chosen calling to protect them? Except it was not... quite that, and- oh, yes, and the utter irony of Vargas's very theory of creation! Yes, how was it exactly that the imperfect could make perfection and the perfect could make imperfection? Would spawning imperfection not entail that the creator itself is imperfect? Or would imperfection be necessary to create perfection, thus pulling imperfection under the wing of perfection and eradicating the concept of imperfection entirely? There were chinks in that armor, that binary hierarchy, and the fact that Vargas did not see those chinks and thus boldly wore that armor already made him a flawed fool in Khavur's eyes. There was much more than Vargas to think about; there was Maximus, V-Labradorite-One and V-Zoisite-One -- Khavur worried about those three, as always. Always worried, but never in the same way for each one. And, oh, there was much to question about Khavur itself, from even beyond that silly title. What was that heart, that carried beastly cravings and sophisticated emotions simultaneously? Did it recognize what it had done, or where it was going? Why it was only somewhat-more-than-half guilty?

There was so much.

It weighed down on Khavur's wings like some celestial body. Khavur was merely the chariot, struggling to pull it all along. So what could it do for now, besides biding its time and learning first to hold each burden before learning to unload it? ...Not much. Distract, and cool down. Lap from springs of other, much more light-hearted topics that required far less reeling and clattering from the machine of the mind. Mangoes, titles, the red dog in Canis, the shining stones of Orion. Khavur was here to find itself, yes, but also to be itself... and that was much easier when it could be with Maximus.

One head trained on its sibling as Khavur paused in motion altogether. No thoughts. Heads... empty. At least until some kind of acceptable fuel could be provided. Pretty much anything Maximus could provide would do.

Text here. "Speech." Thoughts.

Maximus's explanation for Khavur's title... was a curious one indeed. To steal the darkness away from above? A title given by Vargas?! Khavur was entirely skeptical, but Maximus's additional comment made it desire to believe just a tad more. Maximus earned a light chuckle, an echo of a smile.

In silence, still in stasis, Khavur watched as Maximus swallowed and stretched. The hatred of mornings... yeah, Khavur could understand that. Especially for an omnivore, who didn't always get as much energy as an obligate carnivore did, perhaps because they didn't need all that energy to hunt all that much. Maximus was also just... a sleepy little lamb, Khavur supposed. Adorable.

"I still prefer Khavur, Holder of Butterflies." Fondness followed that comment, and Khavur shared it, added its own fondness. A wordless form of agreement. Khavur could sense Maximus's shift in stress, the expanding of their nature. Khavur could feel that same shift in itself too. Truly, whatever gloomy aura ruminated in Draco was always far more critical and cumbersome than Khavur expected. It was a weight you only felt twice: once when laid upon you, and the other when taken off. They became different, more honest, without it...

It made Khavur wonder about the labradorite and the zoisite. It wondered often about those two. About what they had taken from Khavur's... "lesson". About where they had gone. Khavur almost-- Khavur hoped they had left, if only for some time. Hoped that if they had left, it would add something sweet to the bitterness of wounds and heartbreaks. Maybe they had their own journey now; maybe Khavur had sparked it.

The Reaver looked to Maximus, and fought the sudden pang it felt in its chest, which only made the pang grow. It didn't want to generate and transfer more negativity when they had all the negativity they could possibly want locked away inside of them, but... Khavur just wondered if it deserved any of this. To leave Draco, and to love Maximus. To have any relief from Draco or Vargas or the Chaos Forge. It had so many flaws, flaws that it brandished, flaunted even, when it felt like doing so. Why was that worth anything to Maximus? Or to Vargas? Or to anyone at all? Gah! Khavur didn't want to... well.

It tried to buck up. Think about something fast enough, maybe Maximus would understand and move on as well. "I... The shining stones here are..." Khavur looked around, almost with desperation. Then it spotted the building in the center of the room, and felt a little foolish for not noticing or registering it earlier. "...What do you think that structure is for?" Khavur used one of its killing claws to gesture to the mound of stone in their path. Khavur had seen it before, but had Maximus?

Maximus, thankfully, let Khavur stew and distract -- they invited Khavur to follow them into the sky. They looked like an angel up there, smiling and gleaming. The Reaver struggled not to feel like an ugly, horned and wretched demon in comparison. Under what god would demons and angels flock together? ...Anyways.

Khavur put the big questions away as it powered itself into the air. With large, intense wingbeats that knocked the air out from under, that fought for an elevated place, Khavur eventually managed the height and held it, following Maximus onward to the unknown structure.

Truly, it was a colossal beast of architecture. What could it possibly have been intended for? The echoes coaxed a rumbling chuckle from the small-horned head of Khavur, which would then rumble on in their own echo. All those seats way up, with the center stage being below them and the echoes that rang far and wide... this place was meant to hold many creatures, many voices. And perhaps... "Perhaps it was made for music?" Khavur turned one head to look at Maximus, while the other head remained upwards, starstruck. "...Do you have your box?"

Although, Khavur wasn't sure about music being performed in a pit. If all music came from boxes and throats, then why were there none left out here? Had they all been taken? ...Grim hypothesis. Let's try the more positive one first.