DAMIEN
I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak
I'm angry and I know that's weak
The Family, Damien had managed to stay out of their warpath though just as anyone in Caido had, he'd been subjected to their more far-reaching effects. After a certain point, there had been no escaping the void's corrupted gaze. "It is a good thing the Family aren't here anymore..." was all he said of that.
Damien’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of 'dragons', the weight of the answer settling over him like the cold that pressed in from all sides. He didn’t push immediately for details—he knew better than that—but the silence stretched just long enough for the unspoken understanding to fill the space between them. Dragons weren’t just beasts. They were living storms, legends carved from fire and scale.
He glanced toward Zuriel briefly, reading the subtle tension in her stance like a shadow of old wounds lurking just beneath her composed exterior.
He shifted a log with a practiced ease, the scrape of wood on wood filling the pause.
Finally, his voice came low. “I've heard stories about the dragons. Don't know how many of them are true but there's always a common thread; people who go after them don't often come back.”
And for that reason, he had never been wont to try his hand at it. Even now, he didn't so much as imagine that was something he'd ever go and do. "You were either very brave, or very foolish..." he said, a rare combination of admiration and humor entangled in Damien's voice.
After a moment's pause, he sobered.
"What happened?" The question was utterly simple, but carried a gravity that spoke of respect—both for the creatures they hunted and the men who faced them. He knew from experience how quickly a hunt could turn into a nightmare, how the cold could become the least of your worries once a large predator was involved. He could imagine that feeling magnified ten times if that predator were a fuckin' dragon.
Damien’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of 'dragons', the weight of the answer settling over him like the cold that pressed in from all sides. He didn’t push immediately for details—he knew better than that—but the silence stretched just long enough for the unspoken understanding to fill the space between them. Dragons weren’t just beasts. They were living storms, legends carved from fire and scale.
He glanced toward Zuriel briefly, reading the subtle tension in her stance like a shadow of old wounds lurking just beneath her composed exterior.
He shifted a log with a practiced ease, the scrape of wood on wood filling the pause.
Finally, his voice came low. “I've heard stories about the dragons. Don't know how many of them are true but there's always a common thread; people who go after them don't often come back.”
And for that reason, he had never been wont to try his hand at it. Even now, he didn't so much as imagine that was something he'd ever go and do. "You were either very brave, or very foolish..." he said, a rare combination of admiration and humor entangled in Damien's voice.
After a moment's pause, he sobered.
"What happened?" The question was utterly simple, but carried a gravity that spoke of respect—both for the creatures they hunted and the men who faced them. He knew from experience how quickly a hunt could turn into a nightmare, how the cold could become the least of your worries once a large predator was involved. He could imagine that feeling magnified ten times if that predator were a fuckin' dragon.
And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek
For whatever it is I seek
