Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
In between healing bombardments and other cataclysms, Deimos greatly appreciated opportunities to simply visit those he cherished. A break in the endless barrages and sieges, away from gallows and machinations; and perhaps permission for himself to have a pause in the wake of endless work. The Levinsward had altered from the initial time he and others had sauntered through (especially below the ground), and he took a moment to gaze out across the plains and fields, staring at the massive clouds and the resounding lightning, pointing out the jagged element for Erebos to enjoy. Before long though, the appointed meeting hour arrived, and so he altered course with the youth, finding the Sparkbird’s Nest not long after (though the name earned a snort – surprised to hear some still didn’t mind that ancient and primordial being; gone, but certainly not forgotten).
The door dinged above them, and the Sword set Erebos down so his wobbling legs and practicing aims could be well versed even in a terrain without snow, taking hold of the infant’s hand as he teetered, and granted Kiada a juvenile smile as they slowly sauntered their way over. The child was keen though, waving at anyone nearby, and they eventually met up with the Ancient, with a coo and several select gurgles from Erebos, and a rumble from Deimos. “Hey.” Sliding into a chair, and snagging his son into his lap. “How are you?”
