Where's your crown, King Nothing? (private, susitna/rakuebby)

[Dissonance Valerius]

It was almost time.

He could practically feel it. He'd used many of his moves in that Great Game played by the Daemons on high to position the pieces ever so subtly. The time of his home's return was upon them; home, to him, was not a place, but a people. Many still resided, lingered, carried on, and their continued survival would soon bear fruit. He had worked hard for this, tracked and watched and carefully done his best to maneuver the pieces into position, but there was still more. More pieces to move, to bring into play, to return to the board, and that was what he would do. The excitement he felt was almost palpable, so strong it was like a pressure bearing down upon him, he could all but taste it. Even if the full extent of his plans never bore fruit in the way he intended, that was fine. Their return was enough for him. He might not have Anthrax back, he might not ever be leader, but as long as They lived on, reunited and continued on, that was enough to satisfy him, to appease his demons if only just.

Nothing had he craved so much. That black tomcat who hardly looked a day different than when he had first showed up on the border sought one other now, the founder, one of the two who had birthed the name he now carried proudly, and which he had cherished for so long now. Valerius. It was a name that rang strongly even now, and he carried the weight of all those who too had worn it with pride. Another piece on the board of the great game. One he had at a time detested and respected equally, one who he had been seeking for so very long now. The time was nearly upon them. He could only recall one time he'd ever been so excited, when he had met Anthrax.

It was strange to him. They were all linked to Her, to that single cat with a presence unlike any he had felt before, a once-in-a-lifetime individual who burned blindingly bright and faded just as quickly, who disappeared into the ether and left all others wanting, a burning afterimage in the darkness of one's eyelids, taunting and beckoning. To be entirely honest, he wasn't sure. Sure if he was doing this for himself, for the group at large...or for her. But nonetheless, they needed their founders back, that living history. Felix. Sacrifice. Both significant names, but he'd known only one. He had to return. Dissonance knew it had to be so. If he still lived, as the tom suspected, all would be well, all could be restored. It was the closest thing to fate, he knew. They were inexorably drawn to one another, perhaps by coincidence, or by blood, or family, or perhaps by the will of the Daemons, whose haunting, thirsty laughter echoed loudly even today.

Things would never be as they once were, but...they didn't need to be, he knew. He and Felix had never liked eachother; this he knew, or so he told himself. But in the years following their disbandment, he had reached a different conclusion, a different truth, and gained a much greater respect for him. Even if he himself had long since lost that mischievous glint in his eyes, even if his sleek appearance had become slightly disgruntled, with tufts of fur this way & that, he was the same, and yet different. He had Seen much that would never be Unseen, and he knew what he had to do. No longer would raw ambition come into play, he was a catalyst to bring about great things, but he was not the one to carry them out.

It had been a long time coming. Years, even. He'd finally tracked him to this cave, and vaguely as he approached the dark and imposing mouth of it, he wondered if the other Valerius would even remember him. It had always been, from his perspective, a one-sided rivalry. Felix had nothing to prove against Dissonance; he had already proved it. Dissonance had, once upon a time, had something to prove, but had never succeeded in doing so. The group's outrageously bright flame had been extinguished before he could. He had failed, himself, Grim, Anthrax, all of them. To him, he had not tried hard enough. Their failure had been his sole responsibility, and though he blamed Scarclan - as many did, he was sure - he had not done enough.

Come to me, He willed silently to himself, peering with deep blue eyes, hallowed with exhaustion, into the cave. I am here. Come back to us. It is time. You can't yet retire, you have not yet earned the Daemon's wrath, and neither their mercy.

And with that, he entered the cave,