In my stomach is butterflies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The familiarity, growth, and experience with burdens, pressure, responsibility, and what it had done to him not only in the past, but the present, meant he wouldn’t ever want to release any of that upon his family. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t make mistakes – Evie and him had both talked at length about how perfection wasn’t going to be achieved and they’d be learning right along the way – but Deimos knew what he didn’t want to be. And for now, that might’ve been enough. “Thank you.” His eyes shifted downward, uncomfortable, pondering if he was being put under a microscope and craving a retreat into shadows and nothing. “I will try.” It was much easier to listen to someone else’s opinion and answers for why they roamed towards Halo. His had always been a homecoming of sorts; from the Aurora Basin to the wide-open plains of the tundra, the way winter called and carved its ramparts straight into his ribcage, armed him with fortitude, might, and perseverance. Memories from past lives correlating, melding, and molding into the current realm sculpted him into something far more refined than the menacing beast – enough that he could laugh lightly at her reasoning. “Ah, the brutality.” His nose wrinkled, gaze wandering out towards the rest of the Citadel – where a greenhouse was tucked away, where the barracks reigned, where weapons waited, where protection leapt and bound and still, the wilderness crawled and promised. “It certainly will.” His brow arched, taking another sip of his tea and glancing down at the scone. “But the people are enduring and resilient.” With lots of layers and hell to unpack, naturally. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace