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
Damien’s brows pulled together, like Deimos had struck a stone he hadn’t known was buried in him. Channeling. He’d known of it, of course—it was his by right as much as the color of his eyes or the calluses on his hands—but he’d never once reached for it. Never tested the edge of that particular blade.
His mouth twisted, somewhere between rueful and self-mocking. “Truth? I’ve never tried it. Not once.” He let that hang for a moment, then gave a low breath, shaking his head. “Guess that tells you something, doesn’t it? Maybe I was afraid of what would answer...”
The tundra wind worried at the furs around his throat as he went on, voice quieter, more measured. “A shrine feels solid, at least. Stones stacked, offerings left, like… like you’re knocking on a door that’s meant to be there. Channeling…” He lifted a hand, as if weighing the thought, then dropped it again. “That’s different. That’s calling something to yourself. Or trying to. Feels closer. Riskier.”
He fell silent, boots crunching against the snow, until finally he glanced at Deimos sidelong. The wry edge in his expression had dulled to something closer to earnestness. “Maybe you’re right, though. Maybe it is opportunity. Maybe I’ve been too stubborn to see it.” His jaw worked, then eased. “Doesn’t mean I’ll start kneeling every time the wind shifts. But…” His gaze cut toward the horizon, toward the Citadel walls shouldering the distance. “Maybe it’s worth finding out what answers, if I finally ask.”
His mouth twisted, somewhere between rueful and self-mocking. “Truth? I’ve never tried it. Not once.” He let that hang for a moment, then gave a low breath, shaking his head. “Guess that tells you something, doesn’t it? Maybe I was afraid of what would answer...”
The tundra wind worried at the furs around his throat as he went on, voice quieter, more measured. “A shrine feels solid, at least. Stones stacked, offerings left, like… like you’re knocking on a door that’s meant to be there. Channeling…” He lifted a hand, as if weighing the thought, then dropped it again. “That’s different. That’s calling something to yourself. Or trying to. Feels closer. Riskier.”
He fell silent, boots crunching against the snow, until finally he glanced at Deimos sidelong. The wry edge in his expression had dulled to something closer to earnestness. “Maybe you’re right, though. Maybe it is opportunity. Maybe I’ve been too stubborn to see it.” His jaw worked, then eased. “Doesn’t mean I’ll start kneeling every time the wind shifts. But…” His gaze cut toward the horizon, toward the Citadel walls shouldering the distance. “Maybe it’s worth finding out what answers, if I finally ask.”
And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek
For whatever it is I seek
