No one could say that Deimos didn’t try; sometimes the sentiments and portions were successful, and others lingered and lumbered on into nothing. Instead of mulling over another notched but minimalistic failure, his eyes followed the pathways traced over the map, persistent over the track and trek Flora made. Torchline itself had always been at the heart of it all – far too close to Starfall, and building blockade after blockade. Halo had suffered from the initial plummet; the waves and sea rising, rising, rising. “I have wondered,” in his whispering musing, “if they intend to go for more for the Wilds instead of the regions. Taking those first and gaining more power.” He shifted lightly, ensuring Erebos wasn't stirred, before one finger pointed towards Hak Etme.
Would the desert fall next, if they weren’t careful and strong? Then what of the Climb? And if so, it’d be a steadier march to Halo.
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he studied the map once more. “We have one portion left, and then we can work on something similar to what Torchline and the Grounds have done.” Unless another idea came to being.
Would the desert fall next, if they weren’t careful and strong? Then what of the Climb? And if so, it’d be a steadier march to Halo.
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he studied the map once more. “We have one portion left, and then we can work on something similar to what Torchline and the Grounds have done.” Unless another idea came to being.
deimos
Never let them drain the river of your soul
