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Ivan's exact state of mind at the moment is a tricky enigma, one that may be finally dissected and sorted out later, when all things have finally come to their destined point. He was quite beside himself due to some strong emotion, that was for sure. For about a month now, Ivan's mind was what he emphatically called a "living hellscape" and perhaps it was not far from the truth. But our young boy also denounced any sort of afterlife, so the metaphor was an irony in and of itself. At least, that is what he said to himself in his head. It truly is, as is said in his namesake's book, that

The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him.

He was oppressed by various thoughts that had only a short lifetime, exploding into supernovas and giving birth to new stars of ideas. He tossed them as rotting trash, unable to believe in anything his mind conjured up. Some ideas he recognized as his own, and some were completely new and shocked him. One recurring thought relentlessly circled back to him. That is, the surprising nature of Caustic and Octane. He was not sure why he seemed so certain now that he had heard of the multiple worlds theory that Caustic had introduced him to. At the time, he'd denied it, but the thought nagged him that he had seen it somewhere. But where?

This thinking left him with one of the worst migraines he had yet experienced. Ivan hid his condition remarkably well. He did not necessarily think he was ill. Even if he did, he still had some unfinished goal he had to work towards, one he apparently valued higher than his actual health.

He disappeared this evening without a trace. He hadn't been seen in the town since noon. "I'm going to the Typhoon." He replied to the npc or two had bothered to ask where he was going. He wore a childish and blissful grin as he said this, not at all suited for the content of his head.

He was not going to the Typhoon. He didn't even know why he said that. It very well may be that word had passed around, but Ivan was not in the town to see it happen.

Suddenly the duckweed turned to razor grass, and the fresh water met the saline water. Ivan had wandered toward the shore. The pebbles felt cool under his paws. He moved forward further, as if guided by some invisible hand. Ivan set his focus on a point beyond the horizon. He was elbow deep in water when he stopped and strained his ears as if he had heard something. His mind was still exploding with stars.

Ivan was yanked out from under his feet by a strong current. He ducked under for a moment and shut his eyes. His head surfaced again and he gasped for breath, unable to call out. His paws flailed to try to save his own wretched skin, but the current was too strong and was dragging him away from the coast and into the shallows of the sea. Ivan only allowed tears to prick his eyes when he could not feel the ground under his paws. He strained to keep his head above the water and keep the land in his sight.

He had to close his eyes again. The sun was too bright.

Help was a despicable word. The gathering of the people at the border had caused Asvini's nose to twitch, pausing in her deep thought. Three of them. The baring smell of sea-water bothered her enough to drag herself to her paws, slowly padding towards them. Maybe they were doing ocean fishing. Maybe it was just the time of day, a friendly chat at the pebbles of the colder water. But the closer she got, the thrashing in the water, the more alarm bells rung in her head.

Asvini picked up the pace until she, too, was free from the duckweed. She paused at the sight, an uncomfortable weight settling on her ribs- an aftertaste, of the pain she sustained in the accident in the tremors? Or perhaps a fear. Fear of losing someone else- not just Moth, or Atticus, but perhaps Aurum leaving her. Why didn't Ivan say anything? The cold bite of her normal perception settled, suddenly, like a blanket on her thoughts- she didn't need anything from Ivan, Ivan didn't expect anything from her, so why did it burn in her chest?

"Why? Why is in there?" She whispered, watching Bloodhound retrieve Ivan. Her eyes didn't move towards Delilah- the question hung in the empty salt-air. It wasn't a question, but a fear.

"speech"

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The thought had never really ingrained itself in his mind that he would die. It seemed very far off. He couldn't die, not without his goal being just out of reach. All the same, there was a curious self-destructive nature that preyed on his mind. He didn't know where it came from, and he stayed silent about it. He was alive, and he didn't know why or what for. So he'd find out the answers to those questions, but it proved to be taking quite the toll on him.

At this point, his legs were tiring and his breathing was shallower. If he was aware of Bloodhound leaping in after him, he did not make any notice of it. He still thrashed, the stubborn part of him, so he had missed Bloodhound's first attempt inadvertently. Their jaws closed home on the boy's torso and he immediately let out a startled yelp and a pathetic little mew. He struggled for a moment, and then relaxed. His eyes opened and closed blearily. It was a wolf, and once he got better bearings of himself, he realized it wasn't Caustic.

Exhausted and petrified, he did not say anything and lay limp in their jaws as he was carried back to shore. He thought he saw two figures there, but he couldn't make out who. His skin burned with shame, but he did not know what shame it was for.