the darkness falls around me at night
"I hope you do," I say readily when he says he'll hold me to my word, smiling a little bit. If he holds me to it, then I probably have a better chance at survival.
The snow crunches beneath my boots as I follow in his wake, steps smaller but no less certain. There’s a quiet warmth settling in me—it’s in his words, the small signs of approval. The way he says good like he means it. Like maybe I’m not just some kid trying too hard.
My fingers drift to my sleeve, to the tear where the luxere caught me. The fabric’s stiff with dried blood, and I rub my thumb along the jagged edge without really thinking. The jacket’s a little too big, the shoulders broad. It used to be my dad’s. Still smells faintly like pine and peppermint, especially in the pockets, even after a dozen hard washes.
Mom… she’d be proud, probably. Worried sick, of course. She never stopped looking for threats in every room, and the idea of me picking fights with monsters would’ve had her pacing the walls. But underneath all of that? She’d get it. Maybe too well.
Dad would’ve been worried too, I think. Just like Mom. They were both assassins once, both so deeply trained in caution that half the time it looked like detachment. But I like to think he’d be proud. That if he could see me now—bloodied, maybe a little foolish, but standing—he’d see more than just risk. He’d see that I’m trying.
And mom? She’d never say it out loud, but I think this is what she was hoping for. Not the danger, maybe, but the direction.
I shake the thoughts loose with a quiet breath and pick up my pace slightly, matching Deimos’s stride.
”The guild has only been around ten years, right?” I say, glancing at him. It just feels older, I guess. Like it’s something that’s always existed, even if it hasn’t.” I turn the idea over for a second, then add, ”What made you take it on? Was it something you wanted, or something someone asked you to carry?”
The snow crunches beneath my boots as I follow in his wake, steps smaller but no less certain. There’s a quiet warmth settling in me—it’s in his words, the small signs of approval. The way he says good like he means it. Like maybe I’m not just some kid trying too hard.
My fingers drift to my sleeve, to the tear where the luxere caught me. The fabric’s stiff with dried blood, and I rub my thumb along the jagged edge without really thinking. The jacket’s a little too big, the shoulders broad. It used to be my dad’s. Still smells faintly like pine and peppermint, especially in the pockets, even after a dozen hard washes.
Mom… she’d be proud, probably. Worried sick, of course. She never stopped looking for threats in every room, and the idea of me picking fights with monsters would’ve had her pacing the walls. But underneath all of that? She’d get it. Maybe too well.
Dad would’ve been worried too, I think. Just like Mom. They were both assassins once, both so deeply trained in caution that half the time it looked like detachment. But I like to think he’d be proud. That if he could see me now—bloodied, maybe a little foolish, but standing—he’d see more than just risk. He’d see that I’m trying.
And mom? She’d never say it out loud, but I think this is what she was hoping for. Not the danger, maybe, but the direction.
I shake the thoughts loose with a quiet breath and pick up my pace slightly, matching Deimos’s stride.
”The guild has only been around ten years, right?” I say, glancing at him. It just feels older, I guess. Like it’s something that’s always existed, even if it hasn’t.” I turn the idea over for a second, then add, ”What made you take it on? Was it something you wanted, or something someone asked you to carry?”
Theea
and covers me in silence so bright
