I have dealt with the kin of all elements before. Kaze's comment: "Ah." A grunt escapes him as he withdraws his touch, lightly burned. If it were to be enshrined within a bullet - the heated casing would surely scald skin. And yet - in its depths it hides a threat of unimaginable pain. So overwhelmingly focused, ambitious, unmatched in its drive and brazenly splendid. Ash, strewn over a battleground, that picks up when boots meet the earth. Ever-moving, like a furnace perpetually at work - but also the dust that travels on wayward winds. Always, that self-luminous eye must be turned outwards, a lighthouse and a fortress unto one.
What a searing thing - afraid to fall asleep, afraid to flicker out like candles do, snuffed out by some unseen, insidious force. It wants to burn - blinding all those around it with a glow that challenges the very sun. A vibrant red that bleeds through the fingers, defying containment, like a caged beast. After the initial burst of light, it dims somewhat, allowing itself to be examined. The shade that emerges is quickly covered by the gunmage's hand. His father had protected his sons from their marriage turmoils until he couldn’t any longer, and on one fate deciding day in June, Jakub sat his boys down, and explained to them that their mother was gone, and she wouldn’t be coming back.ĭescription: Painful. So when suddenly, one morning his mother had disappeared along with all of her belongings, had abandoned their family, it sidelined Matous. In his newly emerging teenagehood, he hardly noticed when things started to go awry in his family, too enamored with the biochemical and biophysical makeup of the world. He took a liking to the scientific world, and his parents, although disappointed, allowed him to explore his interests freely. While his brothers, Andrej and Filip, took to it quickly in their own youth, Matous seemed to be rooted in more concrete things. He had all the resources he could have ever asked for to foster his potential, and his parents having both been well-known sculpturists, attempted to nurture the artistic potential of all their kin. Matous’ childhood was well rounded and arguably perfect for a long time. They had effectively monopolized the niche career scope, and it allowed them to live lavishly, although they always made sure their sons knew what they had and how others weren’t so fortunate. The Andrasko household was one of nurturing and flourishment amongst their long lived wealth from owning several art museums and galleries across the continental Europe. A home birth-chosen by his mother for its intimacy and primitivity alongside a father whispering words of encouragement to his wife, his palm smoothing down her hair lovingly as they brought Matous into life. THERE was still a blanket of snow nestled atop the grass outside of the Andrasko household, fluffy and quiet, on the humble January morning that Matous was birthed into this world, to become the third and final son of Jakub Andrasko and Adéla Andraskova.
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