the darkness falls around me at night
The unicorn moves like royalty—like something out of a dream. Her coat is silver-smoke and moonlight, all impossible grace, and I forget, for a moment, that I’m bleeding through my sleeve. Her eyes are intelligent in a way that makes me feel like she could carry a conversation if she wanted.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I murmur to her, voice quiet and sincere. I stay still, letting her assess me, like I’m a guest in her palace instead of a frozen interloper bleeding on her snow.
The moment her horn touches my arm, it’s like a cool bloom of pressure under my skin. The pain numbs, dulls, then vanishes entirely—just a faint sting where the gash used to burn. I flex my fingers, eyes wide. “Thank you,” I say to the both of them.
I shift back a step, eyes scanning the snow-churned clearing. In the distance, I can still hear the sharp clash of steel and the rumble of hooves, others doing what we just did—somewhere further off, someone shouts a warning. I reach for my sleeve, now stained and torn where the antler caught me, and sigh. “Guess I’ll be mending this again,” I mutter. My favorite jacket.
My eyes flick up—back to Deimos—and something clicks.
Wait. Wait.
The calm power. The unicorn. The air of command. That’s got to be a pertyton flying up there.
“That’s—” I start, brows lifting. “You’re the Deimos, aren’t you? The Resurrected Sword, the Warden—"
A sound to my right cuts me off. The crunch of hooves, close. Too close.
I spin a bit gracelessly, slicing out with my blade, the tip catching the flank of a void-luxere barreling past. It makes a high sound as it pivots, snorting, rushing back for them. I exhale, heartbeat in my ears. “Okay, right,” I huff. “Less gawking, more stabbing. We’ll circle back to the celebrity moment.”
“Hello, gorgeous,” I murmur to her, voice quiet and sincere. I stay still, letting her assess me, like I’m a guest in her palace instead of a frozen interloper bleeding on her snow.
The moment her horn touches my arm, it’s like a cool bloom of pressure under my skin. The pain numbs, dulls, then vanishes entirely—just a faint sting where the gash used to burn. I flex my fingers, eyes wide. “Thank you,” I say to the both of them.
I shift back a step, eyes scanning the snow-churned clearing. In the distance, I can still hear the sharp clash of steel and the rumble of hooves, others doing what we just did—somewhere further off, someone shouts a warning. I reach for my sleeve, now stained and torn where the antler caught me, and sigh. “Guess I’ll be mending this again,” I mutter. My favorite jacket.
My eyes flick up—back to Deimos—and something clicks.
Wait. Wait.
The calm power. The unicorn. The air of command. That’s got to be a pertyton flying up there.
“That’s—” I start, brows lifting. “You’re the Deimos, aren’t you? The Resurrected Sword, the Warden—"
A sound to my right cuts me off. The crunch of hooves, close. Too close.
I spin a bit gracelessly, slicing out with my blade, the tip catching the flank of a void-luxere barreling past. It makes a high sound as it pivots, snorting, rushing back for them. I exhale, heartbeat in my ears. “Okay, right,” I huff. “Less gawking, more stabbing. We’ll circle back to the celebrity moment.”
Theea
and covers me in silence so bright
