Dorian chuckled—not cruelly, but with the soft amusement of someone who’d already placed the pieces on the board and was only now inviting his opponent to play. He let his extended hand fall back to his side with a graceful flick of his wrist, unshaken by Deimos’ lack of reciprocation. In truth, he hadn’t expected the Warden to take it. His reputation had arrived in the room long before he had. "Of course not," he chuckled humourlessly, shaking his head faintly as he turned his back and resumed his quiet inspection of the office.
He drifted past the hearth, his gloved fingers ghosting near the edge of a weathered map without quite touching it. His tone remained casual, almost courteous, as though they were discussing terms of a trade shipment rather than matters of existential consequence. "I won’t keep you long from your duties," he went on, pausing beside a rack of weapons and tilting his head faintly at the craftsmanship of a longsword hung for display. "You'll find this is quite a simple proposal."
He turned, just enough to glance at Deimos from over his shoulder.
"If you agree to stay out of our affairs—no more jaunts to Starfall, no more tossing flowers to friends, no more invisible daggers into backs and so on—then I will ensure Halo’s safety. Entirely." Dorian faced him fully now, hands once more folded behind his back. "No Family member will cross into your lands, not even Vox. We’ll withdraw the voidlings from the tundra as a gesture of good faith. Your people can train, hunt, rebuild, and sleep through whatever is going to come next, without hearing a single whisper of us beyond your walls."
He smiled then—small, regretful, almost fatherly. "I do understand," he said gently, "that decisions like these often require careful thought. A war council, perhaps, letters at the very least. A long stare at a fire and the opinions of trusted soldiers." A brief pause. "But I’m afraid I’ll need your answer now."
He drifted past the hearth, his gloved fingers ghosting near the edge of a weathered map without quite touching it. His tone remained casual, almost courteous, as though they were discussing terms of a trade shipment rather than matters of existential consequence. "I won’t keep you long from your duties," he went on, pausing beside a rack of weapons and tilting his head faintly at the craftsmanship of a longsword hung for display. "You'll find this is quite a simple proposal."
He turned, just enough to glance at Deimos from over his shoulder.
"If you agree to stay out of our affairs—no more jaunts to Starfall, no more tossing flowers to friends, no more invisible daggers into backs and so on—then I will ensure Halo’s safety. Entirely." Dorian faced him fully now, hands once more folded behind his back. "No Family member will cross into your lands, not even Vox. We’ll withdraw the voidlings from the tundra as a gesture of good faith. Your people can train, hunt, rebuild, and sleep through whatever is going to come next, without hearing a single whisper of us beyond your walls."
He smiled then—small, regretful, almost fatherly. "I do understand," he said gently, "that decisions like these often require careful thought. A war council, perhaps, letters at the very least. A long stare at a fire and the opinions of trusted soldiers." A brief pause. "But I’m afraid I’ll need your answer now."
He'll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
it took you a lifetime to destroy
