The scent of sulfur filled Pol’s nose as he stood before the massive stone arch with its black steel doors contemplating his next step. He knew what his instincts said he should do, what he felt like it was his responsibility to do. Not just as a father, but as a citizen of this new world. But, as he stood here before Raith’s gate, the chaotic, heat driven winds of the volcano tugging at his cloak, he could not help but feel conflicted about this clear path. He was afraid.

It was not the fear of speaking in direct opposition to a God of Anger, though there was that, he would be a fool not to feel that. It was the fear of a father about to engage in an argument with his estranged son. The former ranger had no doubt that no matter how even and level headed the pair engaged with each other, that it would end with an argument, and neither coming away with any new information. The two of them had never agreed on the way the world worked, or could work, and Pol had no reason to believe this encounter would be any different. But it was a conversation that he felt needed to happen. If there was even a sliver of a chance that he could reach Raith and prevent just a second’s worth of suffering for one person, then this entire trip would be well worth it.

As the wind tugged the hood of his cloak away, Pol reached up to brush his hair from his face. When Raith had been born it had been near jet black, and now it was thickly speckled with gray and white. He slowly reached out, grasping the handles in his hands and feeling their heat stinging his palms, and pulled them open. Would he have come here if he were still the man who had held his newborn children in his arms? Unlikely. To that man a battle that could not be won was not worth fighting, better to save your energy for a fight you could win. But that was not the man who crossed the threshold.

***

Pol leaned against the wall of the maze as he pulled free his waterskin from its place on his belt. There had been an easier way to reach his son he knew. But he was not sure that the easy route would have earned him the moment he needed to speak with Raith. He swirled the sweet clean water in his mouth for a moment, savoring it just long enough to center himself. Raith had always been so full of emotion, it made sense that Wrath was his domain. It made sense that he’d want to pull and push on the emotions of those who had come to speak with him. Pol knew that, and he could not help but be affected by it none the less.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Pol tied the waterskin back to his waist. He knew he would be tested before reaching the God, which is why he chose this route after all. But he had not expected the process to take quite so long as this journey had taken him. Pol was thankful that his son had chosen anger for this labyrinth’s sacrifice rather than wrath. It was a slight distinction but an important one. Pol had given up wrath long ago, but he knew he could no more rid himself of anger any more than he could of love. Anger was an emotion, natural, healthy, a part of everyone. Wrath is what you did with that anger. So while Pol was calm on the surface, the maze was doing as its creator intended. With each turn that revealed no end in sight, frustration grew up in the wolf’s heart, and yes that frustration grew to anger. But Pol had seen the sun rise hundreds of thousands of times, and over the last few thousand had learned that anger was just a feeling. One he could acknowledge and let go, or acknowledge and hold onto as he chose. 

How much time had passed between arriving in the darkness of the maze and seeing the exit, Pol could not have said. But the sight of the citadel beyond the exit was one he was very grateful for, even if it did promise a continued journey. 

It took time but, now that the maze was behind him, Pol made his way to his son’s throne room. Slowly, his staff thumping on the ground methodically as he approached the center of the room, Pol made his way to stand before the God of Wrath and the Heavens. With a deep breath Pol looked to his son upon his throne, and slowly lowered himself to kneel with one knee pressed to the ground, his head bowed low, and his staff laying upon the ground and out of his grasp.

“Lord Raith,” he said loudly enough for his voice to fill the space between father and son. “I suspect you know why I’ve come?”

You would never have known, that Raith had not been born into this role, not to look at him at least. To see the man, dressed in his finery, elaborate blindfold set upon his head like a crown, sat tall and proud, hands on the arms of his ornate, black marble Throne, was to see a man who belonged. Not only were his domains designed for him, they enhanced everything about him - the rage he had felt since birth, and the fire that burned within his heart, only fuelled by the powers gifted to him by the Voice… though there was no denying that he was destined to hold them - had Isleen herself not seen great things for him? 
The man made a mental note to seek out his 'niece', especially now that she was better, he owed her a word of gratitude for reigniting the fire of his ambition with her questions on that first meeting… in fact he had a question of his own to ask her, he would have to send Silence out with a letter for her when he got the chance… but right now he had an unexpected, and not entirely welcome, visitor. 

His lip curled back from his fangs as he felt his father's presence entering the Gate, even without the entirety of this Realm acting as his eyes, he would have known that it was Pol entering, what in the name of the Heavens did the man want? Had Pol not realised, long ago, that his son was lost to him? The most Pol could ask for would be tolerance, which was what Kythe was receiving at the moment, but only for Alairia's sake… the moment his love's adoration of his loathsome mother dwindled, would be his opportunity to rid this world of her foul presence and end the torment he had been forced to endure his entire existence. 
Let the man come then, if he felt he needed to, Raith supposed that it was only right, after all it was a father's prerogative to try and steer his children 'down the correct path', as it were. Raith would indulge the man, let him have an audience and listen to the words, despite the futility of them… and futile they would be, for Raith had already geared himself up to ignore and counter every argument his father would bring to the table, no matter how logical Pol would be. 

Raith kept an 'eye' on his father's progress through the Maze, amused that Pol would choose the long route rather than favour the direct one, clearly his father felt that what he had to say was important, and that this would prove the sincerity of his words. Maybe he would listen then, anyone who chose to infuriate themselves in the twists and turns of Raiqi, deserved his full attention at least, even if he would end up dismissing what was said. The old man was persistent, he would give Pol that at least. As his father exited Raiqi, Raith snorted, smiling slightly - he had to admit that he was impressed, part of him had half expected his father to yell in anger and demand his son stop this nonsense so that they could speak, but clearly Pol was determined to prove his worth in the manner his son had intended. 
The vibrations grew in their ferocity as Pol made his way along the path to the Throne room, the sound of the old man's staff thumping against the marble floor, echoing in the chamber and reaching the God's sensitive ears. The staff did not worry him, his father was not like his mother, while he had been a fighter he did not tend to go looking for a fight, usually trying to be the first to diffuse an argument, over starting one. Quite how Pol and Kythe had come together eluded Raith, as far as he was concerned his parents were like night and day… then again so were he and Alairia, quite literally in fact, so who knew. 

Firstly, his father knelt, secondly, he used a title. Even Raith, could not keep the smile of satisfaction from spreading across his face, at least his father knew how to play to his ego. "I do. Get up father, lest your old bones seize entirely in the cold, I have no intention of lending you a hand when your age gets the better of you," he added in an almost bored fashion. "I'll say this for you, father, I admire your determination to prove your heart to me, why else would you toil within Raiqi? Do you not believe this visit to be pointless? After two centuries of my life, when have we ever seen eye to eye?" He sighed.