On the Edge of Something

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Sword’s explorations were muddled and sparse at best; departing from Sah after glancing through the Celestine, examining the plaza, and figuring he could make one more stop before flying home. He’d checked the maps Sohalia had made more than once, glancing along the routes and trails, at the notched details upon the sides – of a world that had once designated hand mines, of a land where he, and so many of his kin, would’ve been trapped and caught. It had been altered, changed, since those times, but some manner of defiance rankled at his spine. Head held high, he placed the parchment back into his pockets, and wound his way to this Righteous Climb, eyes narrowed and speculative. Each step felt like sedition and he welcomed it, because there was once a time where they wouldn’t have been permitted at all, and to stand across the prejudiced soil was something of a feat – a challenge, a brand of rebellion he’d no longer name. His boots touched the ground and naught snagged. The only alteration he could see across the high, floating plain, the wide touches of flickering stone, was another man, seemingly training – until he fell flat on his back. On principle, he grimaced inwardly, but as this was not his jurisdiction, he could only nod in the stranger’s direction, rather than immediately start giving unwanted advice. Were he in Halo…it’d be a different story. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace