As The Prince’s procession began its progression steadily through Clock Town and towards the mayoral offices, Anemos and his patriarch pursued them from above, stalking across the scaffoldings and rooftops almost absentmindedly as the two exchanged banter and raillery, both betwixt themselves and in regards to the ostentatious ceremony that surged through the streets before them. 
“It takes a lot to make a [i]circus[/i] look modest,” jested Arichias, as the pair sprung across the width of an alleyway.
“Don’t tell Grout that: He’ll take it as a challenge!” Anemos playfully replied.

And that was very much the theme for their short journey’s entirety. Their fluid, trained movements went unhindered by their distraction- it had become instinctive, a muscle memory- and soon they slowed to a stop on a platform overlooking the mayor’s piazza, chortling to themselves as they perched themselves on its edge. 
However, when The Prince began his address, both fell silent, and neither’s eyes wavered. 

But, slowly, their miens began to juxtapose one another: As The Prince spoke, Arichias- the supposed wiser of the two- began to grow all the more jovial. 
At first, one might have mistaken him for being thoroughly enthralled as Davos regaled the crowd: But it soon became quite obvious that, much like his son before him, he found the whole affair quite funny to watch from afar. 

Anemos, however, looked to have moved to the opposite side of the gamut: His expression had grown solemn and pensive, as if suspended in deep meditation. 
From the first utterance of this ‘ill-fated prophecy’, of the tragedy that was to engulf this land, his eyes had become contemplative: Glazed over and fogged, as though clouded by slow-falling smoke. 
His fingers- which had drummed against his knee absentmindedly beforehand- now clutched at his jerkin, and for the second time this day, he could feel the burdensome weight of the mask that flanked his belt. 
“Would they ask for help?”, he pondered, as Arichias made jest and jibe mutedly to his right, inaudible, “Would I answer?”

“… because ‘God told me to do it’ has never been the motivation for [i]anything[/i] senseless, has it son?” Arichias’ voice finally broke through. 
Anemos stirred suddenly from his stupor, as if Arichias had become a wave where once there was a tranquil stream, “Hrm? What?”
His father glanced to him, brow arched concernedly, “What?”
“Oh, uh… nothing. Yeah, haha, crazy, right?”
“Anemos, are you feeling okay?” 
“Sure, I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re looking sort of… pale.” 
“Huh, really? Well, uh… it’s… you know.” 
“Do I?”
The two stared at one another in silence for a few excruciatingly long moments, before Anemos averted his gaze, and turned instead to face the clock tower from which Clock Town had gotten its name.

“Oh, is it that late already? I should get to training!”
“Anemos, if there’s something wrong-”
“There’s nothing wrong, why do you think something is wrong?”, the younger man inquired, as he drew his bo staff, and anchored it into the roof beneath him so that he might stand. 
“Something just seems… off. Davos doesn’t have you spooked, does he?”
“No, of course not!” 
“Anemos.”
“A little bit?”
“[i]Anemos.[/i]”
“Yes.”

Sighing softly, Arichias patted the space beside him, “C’mere.”
“Sorry, dad, I’m sort of in a hurry-”
“Then just listen to me.”
Anemos opened his mouth to protect, but then found himself simply sighing, and nodding. 
“I’m not sure if you’ve realised this or not, but I’m not exactly a young man-”
“I did.”
“-Shut up. Anyway, my point is, if Termina came to an end every time somebody who’d spoken to ‘The Goddess’ said it would, you wouldn’t have even been born.”
“It happens that often?”
“Crazy people are as crazy people do.”
“Huh…”
“Feel a little better?”
“Actually I’m sort of afraid Termina is filled with lunatics, now.”
“Glad to hear it, now get to practice.”
“I’m glad you’re in a circus, dad.”
“Because I’m a real showman?” 
“Because your pep talks are a joke.”
“[i]Scram.[/i]”

Grinning- as Anemos always seemed to be when he parted with his father- the acrobat began backing away, before turning on his heel and bouncing across to an adjacent rooftop. 
By the time he was out of sight, however, that grin had faded, usurped by a reflective frown. 
He wasn’t going to practice: He’d missed a great deal of it watching The Prince’s march throughout the city… 
And he needed to meditate on what he’d learned before he could even hope to dedicate the necessary focus to aerial stunts. 

Soon enough, he dropped back onto the cobbled streets of Clock Town, and took a seat at the edge of some hollowed crate. 
Sighing softly, he reclined back onto his elbows, and peered up at the sky, before muttering to himself “Put not your faith in Princes.”