"Well he's arrogant."

Vitruvion Elssmith, lacking the noble 'Sir' these days, after a personal choice and after what he and his business kingdom had gone through, stood leaning against the wall at one of the alleyways to the square of Harnsey town. Lips pursed, eyes narrowed he stared at the one who called himself Philgast the Great and considered that this man was utter tripe, like the stains of old blood that refused to move from the floorboards of the dining hall in his, now, burnt down mansion.

"Yeah," came a grunt from beside him, brows raised, "he's arrogant? It's not like I've known anyone else who is arrogant."

Vitruvion looked down from his tall height, peering through the veil of snow-white hair at the small feathered creature beside him. She stood at around four foot, ten inches, and had a raven's head, complete with beak, upon her shoulders. Black eyes stared at the wizard Philgast, and a hand gripped the hilt of an elaborate katana. Her body was wrapped in a roughspun grey tunic, with the glint of mythril underneath. Slowly she breathed, small breasts barely noticeable, and held herself with rigid poise.

Gently, Vitruvion dropped a hand and let it rest on her head. He teased a feather, idly stroking it before he answered.

"Stare," he chided, "that is rather rude."

She said nothing in reply, only stood there resolute. Instead a glittering of amusement came into her eyes, knowing that she had somewhat offended him. It had been entirely deliberate. He was, after all, a bastard of a man (or, more accurately, god stuffed into the body of a man, bleeding out divine power and not able to talk to anyone about his true identity aside from a select few, such as her because he was her god). Lightly, he admonished her with a flick of a finger on her temple before lowering his hand again it his side. His eyes darted up to the tear in reality.

"Where do you think it might lead?" Stare asked quietly. "Is it possible it could be ..."

"The chances of it leading back to my father's world is minimal," Vitruvion said quietly. "But a tear anywhere is also an escape. As I am I cannot teleport us to another world, and a new one may be what need."

Ever since the skies had opened and rained ash, or the clouds had begun to turn black, the two of them had been either captured, or running. First Stare had spent two weeks within the clasp of their long-time enemy, Vitruvion's half brother, Vindrexis. The half-god had also torn apart Vitruvion's entire world, slaughtering his closest allies, burning down his offices, stores and house, and all this after spending months of slowly taking away everyone whom Vitruvion trusted in his life. Stare had felt those two weeks in almost constant torture and death, her only comfort her brother, brought back from the dead by Vindrexis, if only to haunt her ...

Vitruvion had rescued her, after his own personal battles, after temporarily gaining back his power as a god that was the only way he could kill the bastard. Then they had fled to the volcano on Lornius, the theory being that if they were closer to the volcano then they could keep a direct eye on the danger ... But a day and that had proved stupid. So now they were back here on Corone, only a few miles from familiar ground, surveying the prospect of beginning a new life. And not as master and slave any more, as they had once been, as something different.

As equals.

They had been through a lot.

"So we could go through that to ... Wherever?" Stare asked, slightly in awe.

"Indeed, some distant plane, some ... Planet far across the universe." He glanced down at her, and paused before grunting. "We keep an eye on it. We stay."

"But what if there is danger?" the kenku asked, eye closest to her god meeting his gaze. "What if we have just walked into another mess of chaos?"

"It's worth the try," he concluded, "to see what is beyond the tear.