we fight for brighter, stronger skies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Deimos hadn’t even had the time, nor the wherewithal, to address the Stormbreak debacle. Given that Halo wasn’t often a chosen location for multitudes, he figured not many of the incoming refugees would be docking amidst the wintry climate, but they could make do should any of them arrive, regardless. His ongoing crisis was spread between protecting his region, the ongoing Starfall machinations, and then the upcoming pool party, which seemed like make or break moments fumbling around the seams. He allowed another long breath before Hadama addressed them, eyes flickering downwards to watch how Erebos received the greeting. The youth giggled and waved, then opted to settle by the Sword’s leg, practicing his own winks. At the question, Deimos permitted a snort; which was perhaps better than the alternative range of emotions fumbling through his bones. “I had tried for other options this time, if they were willing,” as he produced the recent letter from Ronin out of his pockets, extending it to Hadama so that he might read it. “Back to square one.” Which could’ve meant it’d be them, likely Sunjata, and someone else amidst the small collection of options. Thereafter too, he snagged at other parchments. “And I was told you were aware of this,” parsing amidst Flora’s multitude of letters, before he found the one marking some plans. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace