Deimos
A level of relief flickered through his shoulders; for Ru, for Enzo, and for all the tellings of Mort to be true. Hearsay and blind faith might never have been enough for someone like Deimos; but the Valkyrie’s depictions snagged into nothing but the truth. That all the deceased in this land, save for the Ascended (and now he could only wonder where their souls went when the Voice fell), were to be treated well, content, and in peace, was more of a reassurance than they’d been given in some time. “So the stories were true,” ignited a small smile along his mouth, grateful of the knowledge shared.
Or that Enzo knew exactly how to heal his mother, even from beyond the mortal realm, made him wish he’d ever had the opportunity to meet the lad. “And not to rush your way there?” Came on maybe a hint of a snicker, a light tease, despite the depictions and topic at hand.
He would’ve persisted and continued, had the tug along her pants, and subsequently near his boots, been noticed. Only a slight moment of confusion hastened through his mind, before clarity struck – based on the guild members recent findings and hunters’ words. Zuriel snorted, reflecting his inner thoughts, while Belial remained above, completely oblivious. “Not for long,” a promised sanction of a growl – turning and twisting immediately towards the thread, and setting it ablaze with a molten inferno. A warning – and a conviction.
Or that Enzo knew exactly how to heal his mother, even from beyond the mortal realm, made him wish he’d ever had the opportunity to meet the lad. “And not to rush your way there?” Came on maybe a hint of a snicker, a light tease, despite the depictions and topic at hand.
He would’ve persisted and continued, had the tug along her pants, and subsequently near his boots, been noticed. Only a slight moment of confusion hastened through his mind, before clarity struck – based on the guild members recent findings and hunters’ words. Zuriel snorted, reflecting his inner thoughts, while Belial remained above, completely oblivious. “Not for long,” a promised sanction of a growl – turning and twisting immediately towards the thread, and setting it ablaze with a molten inferno. A warning – and a conviction.
it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites
It's the fire it ignites
