Damien
i'm trying to run from our pride
The roads into Mourn were quieter than he’d expected, the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears and made every step deliberate. Damien pulled his coat tighter, the chill of Leafchange biting at his neck, and let his eyes drift over the scattered clusters of glowing lanterns and the murmuring crowd. He didn’t hurry. This wasn’t a place for rushing, and he wasn’t here to arrive with anyone else’s timing.
Familiar faces drifted past: Ronin leaning into Remi, Deimos crouched low beside his child, Maea carefully arranging her baskets and jars. Damien offered polite nods as he passed, distant yet observant. He had no reason to force himself into conversations that weren’t his to have.
Aria, however, had her own plan. The tiny snow leopard cub bounded ahead, unsteady paws skidding across the grass as she padded in a straight line toward a figure Damien already recognized. She tumbled once, shook herself, then padded faster, ears flicking forward with excitement.
Theea.
Aria reached her first, chirping in delight and pawing at the hems of Theea’s clothes, tumbling again as if unsure of her own exuberance. He hung back, heart unsteady despite his calm face. His gaze lingered, caught between caution and something else—something that whispered of the night they’d found Aria, cramped and quiet in the cave, hearts hammering in unison. That memory pressed against him, soft but insistent, as he measured the space between himself and Theea.
Damien followed momentarily, adjusting the lantern he carried. It was etched simply with pine trees and snowflakes, a quiet tribute to the parents he had lost. He let himself step into the light, giving them a respectful distance yet close enough to be part of the moment. He let his eyes meet her icy-blues, voice soft, measured. “Evening.” The word was small, unassuming, but under it lingered the things he never let himself voice: the steady draw, the quiet comfort, the part of him that couldn’t help being glad she was here.
The festival swirled around them—lanterns like captured starlight, soft music threading between the crowd, laughter spilling from children darting in Ludo masks. For a moment, Damien let it all blur, letting the warmth of this reunion settle across his chest, quiet and grounding.
And his eyes caught the subtle truth in the moment: Theea carried nothing herself (other than cider).
He frowned slightly, voice low when he spoke, careful, familiar. “Already set your lantern among the others?”
Damien doesn't bring any viable lanterns.
Familiar faces drifted past: Ronin leaning into Remi, Deimos crouched low beside his child, Maea carefully arranging her baskets and jars. Damien offered polite nods as he passed, distant yet observant. He had no reason to force himself into conversations that weren’t his to have.
Aria, however, had her own plan. The tiny snow leopard cub bounded ahead, unsteady paws skidding across the grass as she padded in a straight line toward a figure Damien already recognized. She tumbled once, shook herself, then padded faster, ears flicking forward with excitement.
Aria reached her first, chirping in delight and pawing at the hems of Theea’s clothes, tumbling again as if unsure of her own exuberance. He hung back, heart unsteady despite his calm face. His gaze lingered, caught between caution and something else—something that whispered of the night they’d found Aria, cramped and quiet in the cave, hearts hammering in unison. That memory pressed against him, soft but insistent, as he measured the space between himself and Theea.
Damien followed momentarily, adjusting the lantern he carried. It was etched simply with pine trees and snowflakes, a quiet tribute to the parents he had lost. He let himself step into the light, giving them a respectful distance yet close enough to be part of the moment. He let his eyes meet her icy-blues, voice soft, measured. “Evening.” The word was small, unassuming, but under it lingered the things he never let himself voice: the steady draw, the quiet comfort, the part of him that couldn’t help being glad she was here.
The festival swirled around them—lanterns like captured starlight, soft music threading between the crowd, laughter spilling from children darting in Ludo masks. For a moment, Damien let it all blur, letting the warmth of this reunion settle across his chest, quiet and grounding.
And his eyes caught the subtle truth in the moment: Theea carried nothing herself (other than cider).
He frowned slightly, voice low when he spoke, careful, familiar. “Already set your lantern among the others?”
Damien doesn't bring any viable lanterns.
'til you set fire to my atmosphere
