It wasn't long before his tasks for the day had ceased. The hill upon which he stood was scarred by rocks jutted from below, and the man lay in clothes marked by sweat. His routine had been difficult, and tiresome. Every day he would awaken and proceed to his duties as an instructor. When his paying work was finished, there was the work necessary to maintain and improve himself - hours of physical exercise, building him as a stronger and hardier man than he'd already been. His physical form had developed to reflect his fancy in bodybuilding, and he had also begun to tie in Reimancy to the whole equation - dumbells made out of earth, equipment entirely made of refined stone, so on and so forth. 

Caesarion's life lately had been... productive. Just productive. He had been in Kenash for only a month or two, and in all that time he'd made few friends and found few hobbies other than the regular. He had spent nearly all of his time teaching, training, exercising, hunting, or sleeping. Perhaps an hour out of every day, he'd study. And that was all. These things consumed every moment of his regime - with little words outside of ones necessary to maintain his position. As such, his life had changed somewhat dramatically from all the years before, where talking and being the center of a crowd had been something of a comfortable position. He would always learn of others and grow close to them - there was always some dear friend of his to be had, somewhere. 

Except for right now. He had to admit, even though he was progressing fantastically physically and magically, mentally he had felt himself begin to draw far away from how he desired his life to be. Was this the side effect of becoming a powerful mage - the development of antisocial tendencies? He would think so some days, but other days he could swear that it was something different - that he had lost faith in himself, and most importantly, lost faith in others. Throughout his life he'd faced many challenges and surpassed them, but he could never retain his social circle. There was no 'old friend' of his in any sphere. No family to settle in with. No lover, anymore. Each phase in his life that he moved through, he was forced to find an entirely new sphere to step inside of. And he was beginning to lose faith - that he'd ever find a stable home, that he'd ever be made to feel comfortable in the shoes he walked in.

He inquired about life, laying shirtless on the grass upon the hill. Evening was beginning to come, and he did not mind this. The stars had always been constant companions at least, and he had stared into them as a lonely wanderer for years now. But they didn't give answers. They were just pretty things to stare at as he meditated in silence.

. . . 

When night fell, really, and the moon was in clear view, he began to walk home. The moon was nearly full, just a day or two and it would shine its brightest. He'd dabble with magic on that day like with many others, but with more vigor - he swore that the fullness of the moon resounded with his energy. It could have been a real phenomenom, or it could have just been a personal feeling. He did not know, but he had begun to study his limits through each of the phases, and the results were interesting. 

Tonight, for example, he felt grand - while at the beginning of the month he had felt drained and fatigued after his daily labors were finished. This could have been the result of a plethora of things, like the advancement of his living conditions. He knew these studies were highly nuanced, especially given that the experimental subject was himself. And yet his studies continued - into this topic, and more. He would go home now and write in his journal, about his findings with Reimancy, with the children of the Highborn, with the phases of the moon; the stars; the sun, hell even the flowers he looked at this morning. His life had become one big scientific journal of sorts, his own words becoming his companion, for he had no other.

But he would never forget the companions he had lost on the road here. Sometimes, insanely enough, he swore he could see them. He would always reach out to them, their shades, though upon contact they'd fade into his peripheral and vanish. A trick, perhaps due to extensive usage of Hypnotism. Magic always did play with mages minds. He knew that one for sure. 

And on the path home, he swore again he could see one of his companions of old . . .  though this time it wasn't one from so very long ago, but instead a little bird he'd been forced to leave only a season or two past. He could see the figure of Noah, though as if his memory failed him, the man was more of a figure than before. More muscular. His walk was confident. Perhaps this was what his mind desired to see - that lover of his, but strong rather than vulnerable. He still did not yet even know if the Hunters had gotten to him. 

And so, like he always did with each visage played upon him by his mind, he stepped forward and placed his hand upon the man's shoulder. Caesarion's grip was stronger than before - he had become something of a man of stone. This time, though, when his grip hardened on the man's shoulder? He didn't fade away. The mage paused. His overgiving must have gotten worse.