[SE] ignis aurum probat

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

It wasn’t a surprise to hear of a subdued number. Quick glances towards the village when he’d last been there to assist in building the skyport revealed the same struggling structures, a gradual rebuilding. It made him wonder if Darkeye had been successful at all – or if Noah being pulled there to assist had shifted anything; when some probably only wanted to persist and survive. “A shame,” he rumbled, nose wrinkling, but as one of the many who’d left before the war, could fathom why. Whether or not Fox’s loyalties kept him there or not probably wasn’t any of the Sword’s business, so he snagged at another angle as they walked. “Do you have many Ancients there?” Wondering, vaguely, if the surviving Ascended had opted for another path, much like Kiada.

The makeshift grin remained, with a snort to follow, and while the inquiry wasn’t pointed, it still lingered, coursing around old scars. “I did. Only left when there was nothing for me any longer.” Amalia gone. Kiada dead. Hotaru disappeared. Sickness rampant. Pulled and called to mountains for eternity, and not to a dying, collapsing void. Maneuvering away from the sobering semblances, he persisted in other matters. “Let us know if you ever need any of the guild to help.” Especially if there were enigmas and mysteries and monsters twisting about in something too hazardous; especially for a wounded world such as the Grounds.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead