He was beautiful. Beautiful in the same way an oil slick is beautiful as it seeps and creeps along the shore; glimmering a hundred colours under the sun whilst it chokes and smothers. His massive bulk reflected reds and golds in an iridescent fire that poured down his plumage to be lost in the inky shadow beneath him. His eyes burned violently with the fires of a rage ignited an age ago. So long it felt as though he had always been fury incarnate.

But she remembered. Remembered the wriggling, squeaking child he had been before he was taken. What they did to her son she dare not think about but the damage was too permanent and too deep. He was wrath taken wing and his fury clouded the sky.

But he was beautiful.

And that was all she could think as the air cracked and churned like an up-ended forge; casting his silhouette before her and mirroring her greatest regret. A streak of glowing ember-gold lit up in first his Key. It swelled and brightened before splitting into faults along his neck that flashed over glowering eyes and terminated in his broken tusks. His magicks were fire and fury. His will was molten steel and halted for nothing; not even his mother.

The great pale Keeper could do little more than brace herself against his ire and hope she could parry his efforts.