DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
LongNight had a firm grasp on primordial trauma, and even if the horrors now only existed in memories, they were still a difficult knot to unravel. So Deimos kept himself occupied in and around the house or within the barracks; keeping up with training while they waited for the sun to rise again. This hour left him tending to letters by the fireplace in his home office, watching as Erebos pushed his new wooden cart back and forth (or Belial, as the peryton happened to like sitting in it) across the floor. Snorting amidst the delighted squeals, he might have let the entire world persist in nothingness just for a little while –
Save for the sudden nagging in his mind, or the rasping at the door.
The initial panic and trepidation flooded through his brain again, and he was nearly back there, within the Grounds and Temple or the guildhouse, smoldering at the seams. Were it not a wolf calling into the dark, he could’ve stayed there for ages, fingers tightly wound against the frame of his seat, frozen and haunted. Waiting for coaxing words to draw him, and so many others, from safety.
Instead, he pried himself away from parchment and hearths, correspondence and his son, picking up the infant, even as he giggled with glee, and went to hand him over to Evie with a quick intake of breath and whatever explanation he could muster. Another thing. Another assault. Another poignant surge of something in Halo. And unfortunately, not the end of it.
Grabbing his coat, a long exhale flooded through his lungs, and once he opened the door, staring into the dark, trying to find every stoic edge that didn’t already contour and contort over his spine, he looked down at the companion. Lead the way, long strides ready to sweep towards the Lovi household. Coaxing Zuriel alongside him, to which the unicorn proudly, and wisely, said nothing, he used her own calm demeanor to forge and strengthen his.
Save for the sudden nagging in his mind, or the rasping at the door.
The initial panic and trepidation flooded through his brain again, and he was nearly back there, within the Grounds and Temple or the guildhouse, smoldering at the seams. Were it not a wolf calling into the dark, he could’ve stayed there for ages, fingers tightly wound against the frame of his seat, frozen and haunted. Waiting for coaxing words to draw him, and so many others, from safety.
Instead, he pried himself away from parchment and hearths, correspondence and his son, picking up the infant, even as he giggled with glee, and went to hand him over to Evie with a quick intake of breath and whatever explanation he could muster. Another thing. Another assault. Another poignant surge of something in Halo. And unfortunately, not the end of it.
Grabbing his coat, a long exhale flooded through his lungs, and once he opened the door, staring into the dark, trying to find every stoic edge that didn’t already contour and contort over his spine, he looked down at the companion. Lead the way, long strides ready to sweep towards the Lovi household. Coaxing Zuriel alongside him, to which the unicorn proudly, and wisely, said nothing, he used her own calm demeanor to forge and strengthen his.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
