I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Only on rare occasions had the Sword ever delved into injuring himself to prolong a wound on another; sacrificial aims and gains layered in other notations. To do so here and now, with nothing to lose or obtain, seemed all the more bizarre to him. But he wasn’t an Ancient; perhaps it was embedded in their layers of chaotic semblances to simply disentangle by any means necessary. So he nodded at the name, committing it to memory, and deciding to ask Kiada about it later.
Despite all those actions, in the tumbling of wind and air, the gloves made their way back to him, perfected control and ease shifting into his grasp – and a sigh varnished through his chest. It could’ve been relief – the achievement snagged, or just the comfort of them back in his command.
Staring back at Astaroth, and his current ailments, he shook his head. “You probably did not need to go that far,” presuming their practice was over, and creating bandages between his hands, before beginning to pass them over to the Ancient.
Despite all those actions, in the tumbling of wind and air, the gloves made their way back to him, perfected control and ease shifting into his grasp – and a sigh varnished through his chest. It could’ve been relief – the achievement snagged, or just the comfort of them back in his command.
Staring back at Astaroth, and his current ailments, he shook his head. “You probably did not need to go that far,” presuming their practice was over, and creating bandages between his hands, before beginning to pass them over to the Ancient.
DEIMOS
