[SE] ghosts of the fallen

and the only solution was to stand and fight

He waited, though not by glancing back her way. Deimos knew enough of discussions of loss, grief, and death, the hunting for lost souls, to not go staring into it too grimly – he’d lived amidst ghosts and wraiths for a long time, and when that melancholy pulled, it was difficult to find the grace and persistence to linger in the present. He had no desire to return to those miring, clawing efforts, where the sorrow and misery tangled back into his ribs, where the dejection, distress, and agony felt like home, and the cluster of remorse was merely breathing. He’d built walls and towers, fortifications, of peace, of hope, of family and friends, and the only thing that threatened it nowadays was an invading, parasitic Family – but at the very least, it was the bitter rationale of his own mind and memories.

“Nor do I,” even after these years. But then again, she wasn’t a god he’d stray towards. Then the question came, and he looked up to the boughs and branches, spotting Belial again as he hopped from limb to limb, before placing his gaze on Theea again, a slight wrinkle to his nose. Instead of the habitual no that might have surfaced, he pondered over the circumstances and alterations of the past, present, and future – because nothing ever seemed truly impossible in Caido. “I have heard of Mort bringing back companions. I know Remi can send messages back and forth from those departed, and some can return, at his will, for a certain amount of time. He might know more.”

DEIMOS