With his strength ebbing from him at an alarming rate, it was a miracle that Iskandar did not stumble and fall into the sand - perhaps his subconscious was making a valiant effort to lock his legs and keep him upright, to prevent the addition of more sand to his salt-soaked wounds. Through the roar of blood pounding in his ears, he could barely make out the sound of another's voice, the oher already by his side. "Let me," they murmured in a low tone, their soft voice coloured with concern. "Leave me alone," he wanted to say, wanted to twist away from their anxious words and soothing tongue, but fatigue gripped him like a vice and he could only stand and pant, trying to blink away the haze that was slowly descending before his eyes.

For a moment there he felt as if he was truly going to black out again. His whole body throbbed with pain from the wounds and bruises the rebels had given him, while his head spun from the amount of blood he had lost to the tossing of the ocean. But finally his condition began to stabilize, if barely, and Iskandar was able to take a look around. Firstly - the mysterious stranger who had suddenly appeared at his side, but instead of attacking him or chasing him back into the ocean was now tending worriedly to his wounds.

Had he been in any better shape, Iskandar would have likely startled back at the sight that greeted him. The.. wolf? before him had a coat of pure white fur, but that wasn't the shocking thing - it was the majestic pair of spiraling horns that sprouted from their brow, a shimmery purple turned pale blue by the cold moonlight. "W-what the hell are you," Iskandar managed to whisper incredulously between heaving pants, his limbs shivering. His nose was trying its best to identify the stranger, sieving the air as he drew it into his lungs in great rattling breaths, but what he did smell wasn't of any help. The other creature smelled -- of wolf, yes, but there was a strange sharpness to their scent reminiscent of the smell of lightning, the thick static in the air before a big storm. A particularly strong shiver ran down his body and his skin prickled, fur standing on end.

"How far are we from the Oros range?" Despite the fatigue that froze his muscles and rattled his bones, Iskandar's subconscious screamed for one thing - his home, his pack. If the sea had carried him far, he could be months from home. The pack would think him dead - their third leader in succession to be murdered. Except he was alive, and he needed to get back any way he could.

NOTES ; poor iskandar he'll find out soon lol

The ghostly creature - Iskandar was yet reluctant to think of him as wolf - hesitated upon hearing his question, and the calming, rhythmic rasp of his tongue over Iskandar's throbbing wounds drew to an agonizing stop. The sound of waves washing back and forth filled the silence then, each rush of water an eternity long. Had he been more tired the swell of worry, of anxiety would long have filled him to the brim of his consciousness, but as it were he could only feel a dull knot of distress in his throat.

Then the other spoke, and Iskandar's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. His pulse faltered and a fresh wave of light-headedness crashed over him, causing his locked limbs to finally loosen, staggering up the beach a little further in shock. Never in his mortal lifetime? The mysterious stranger's words seemed to have been carefully picked, as if they alluded to a far more sinister meaning than just sheer distance. Surely there was no region quite that far away that he could have made it here between blacking out and waking back up, yet not be able to cross that same distance again with all the years he had remaining? His heart thumped erratically as his mind and body both struggled to make sense of the situation, mouth hanging open and dry as he focused on heaving breath after breath into his abused ribcage.

"I am sorry for your loss," the stranger whispered, his voice barely audible above the ambient sound of the sea as well as Iskandar's own frantic breathing. My loss. But the pack was alive, were they not? In fact, if anything - he was their loss. Because truly, if there was no way he could go back, that only meant one thing.

"In that case," Iskandar gritted his teeth, words coming out like gravel, his throat made raw from saltwater and coughing and choking and trying his valiant best to breathe. "I must be dead." So he had died after all, despite having believed that in his last conscious moments he had narrowly escaped Death's hungry jaws. But if this was the afterlife, nothing about it aligned with what he had expected it to be, or been brought up to believe. His body continued to pulse with pain, fresh blood still dripping from multiple wounds. Was suffering supposed to continue after death? Did he not deserve the honor of a painless eternity? Certainly, he had told his fair share of lies and cast aside some to raise up others, but Iskandar was sure no great king had passed on leaving behind a completely unblemished legacy. Surely even someone like him didn't deserve to suffer forever.

NOTES ; i have no idea where this ended up going

"No. This is not the end - this is the beginning."

The stranger's words, spoken with such conviction, startled Iskandar out of the desolate whirlpool of his inner thoughts. It was hard to focus, but the white wolf's soft voice reached through the fog of his pain like a shaft of light, and Iskandar let himself grasp onto it like a drowning rat to a shard of wood. The things he were saying did not actually make sense to his brain yet, but the quiet yet confident murmur of his voice was like a calming wind over the raging sea of his disbelief. Iskandar stood breathing heavily, but the ridigity began to seep ever so slowly from his tensed muscles. Drawing his consciousness out from inside himself and back into the present, he became aware of the white figure's sky-blue eyes fixated upon his own.

"You are to become a god," the other said, "as I am. And then, maybe--" Iskandar's last shred of battered hope latched onto that maybe, as if the stranger had not just uttered the phrase become a god right before that. As if becoming a god was as normal as taking a walk along the seashore. As if it was commonplace to spend just the short span of a lifetime becoming a god, like a sabbatical, in order to get back to a homeland one had been so cruelly transported away from. But as quickly as that hope had risen in his heart, it was promptly beaten back down again by the white not-wolf's regretful sigh.

"I spoke of your mortal lifetime for a reason. But you will never achieve anything if you choose to give up now." Though Iskandar was not sure what his companion meant by that, the sorrowful tone he spoke in was confirmation enough. Whether the prince was truly alive or not, it did not matter. There was no going back for him. He felt as if that realization would hit him harder again, later, when the greater part of his energy and focus wasn't being spent on enduring the pain of his wounds. And probably several more times, considering the vastness of what this pale stranger was implying. The male shivered unconsciously at such a daunting thought.

Then the other was coming over to press his shoulder up against him, and Iskandar found himself leaning into the stranger's side - as much for sorely-needed support as well as for the comforting presence of another living, breathing soul. But if he was dead - or just not alive the same way he used to be anymore - was his companion living and breathing too? He had said Iskandar was to become a god, like - him? Were gods solid creatures, then, and not wisps of spirits like the elders would pray to?

"At least tell me your name," the god requested, a little less despondently than he had earlier - a valiant effort, given the ordeal Iskandar had clearly dragged him into. An attempt at a wry smile twisted his face, though the prince knew not (and cared not) if the god would see it, the way they stood awkwardly pressed against each other. "My name is Iskandar Ravi," he allowed, though every word felt as if it was clawing its way back up his salt-scoured throat. "I am - was a prince," he added, just ever so snottily (though there was no bite to his bark), as much as his fatigue would allow - though a prince was nothing to a god, but Iskandar's pride was his position, and how well he used it. Even if now his status meant nothing, in this land where he was as helpless and weak as a newborn.

"Help me," he rasped then after a pause, having run the situation through his mind and regrettably come up with nothing. But perhaps he could forgive himself this once for trying to put his sharp mind to something and coming away having barely scratched it, what with him having practically died. "Tell me what I need to do here, if I am to keep going in this damned forsaken place. Tell me what I will keep going for." A purpose. His had been ripped from him. Maybe this god could give him another one.

NOTES ; am i writing this much because this is hal's old table