The hiss and cackle of flames within the fireplace's hearth, which had been the heart of the tavern. The dripping sound of water from the old and rusty faucet and into the empty sink. The cabinets smothered with a thin layer of dust, the wood scratched and so thin that a child could punch through it on accident. The fortress had always been dark and used no other source of light besides flames and candles. It was reminiscent of a medieval prison with the daunting darkness and excessive use of stone in the architecture of the building. Ahote hated it, and he figured everyone else did too. They already had to hide on top of an icy mountain, but it seemed as if they had to hide within their own guild hall as well. What's with all this hiding? All this darkness? The boy had often pondered, and began to feel dreadful in stepping out his room from a restless slumber.
But things were going to be different nowadays. With the betrayal of Sol and many others, Famine had almost became weak from the abruptness of the situation, like someone who had just gotten cuffed without a chance to brace themselves, and Ahote the boy who merely watched it happen. He was infuriated at first, but such feelings were brief and were quickly overwhelmed with a much more powerful feeling. A longing for his father and beloved friend, but holding no such delight in thinking of them or their names and deeply desired for some sort of suffering to come their way. But he thought this without his stoic Mother in mind, but simply for his own satisfaction.
The raven haired youth had worn a baggy, black sweatshirt, a white undershirt, and ripped denim jeans. With his usually dark outfit, he sauntered through the corridors of the fortress with bare feet and a mild expression, eyes flickering with weariness and determination that only this boy could express so silently but so calmly. He would make way to his mother's dorm, or otherwise her office, with one objective. To have her change her ways and make progress with Basilisk Fang's agenda.
The heavy chestnut door had been closed tightly, and although he had been welcomed to join his mother in her dorms whenever he pleased for primarily innocent reasons, he felt almost compelled to knock, to prepare himself and Famine for what subject he dared to bring about. Ahote would stare at the old and shiny doorknob with set topaz hues, carefully twisting it until the door had begun to push open. "Excuse me, Mother." Ahote began quietly, "Can we talk about something very important?"