Noah
Noah held his breath as the words settled, his fingers curled loosely around the handle of his empty stein. His jaw feathered again for a moment, but then he eased, exhaling through his nose. He kept himself calm, steady. The lodge was Noah’s home, and he didn’t realize there was an office of permissions where he needed to obtain a permit to make additions, fortifications, or repairs of it. In his mind, the shrine was an addition to his home. He wondered if Deimos truly would say that to anyone who needed to build, repair, expand their own homes.
Though calm, composed, Noah could not help the thought that slid through him like a blade: just because Deimos could not open his eyes to what had changed, did not mean there was no change at all. ”I have shown you that it will not.” He was not the man who had made reckless choices in a world frayed by war. He was not clinging to patterns of secrecy or desperation. Vi had seen him, weighed him, and released him to a different kind of life.
Noah leaned back, letting the firelight soften the hard lines carved by tension. For all Deimos’ power, for all his loyalty and endurance, he seemed forever bound to suspicion, to scars that refused to heal. Noah pitied that—pitied that his friend could not, after all these years, allow grace and truth to loosen the grip of old wounds. Perhaps the Sword would never yield to such things. Noah would continue to hope.
For now, Noah simply moved on with the warden’s question. ”I have. I’ve been doing some flying in my griffin shift. I also have a bird shift too, some sort of falcon I’ve seen on the tundra and in other regions. Even without teleportation, I can still get across Caido in a good clip with wings.” It was something that Noah had always wanted as an attuned, and now he had it. Flying was exhilarating, and he remembered fondly when Deimos had introduced him to it by allowing him passage by way of his massive bakunawa shift. He let that slip over the attuned bond, softening it again.
Though calm, composed, Noah could not help the thought that slid through him like a blade: just because Deimos could not open his eyes to what had changed, did not mean there was no change at all. ”I have shown you that it will not.” He was not the man who had made reckless choices in a world frayed by war. He was not clinging to patterns of secrecy or desperation. Vi had seen him, weighed him, and released him to a different kind of life.
Noah leaned back, letting the firelight soften the hard lines carved by tension. For all Deimos’ power, for all his loyalty and endurance, he seemed forever bound to suspicion, to scars that refused to heal. Noah pitied that—pitied that his friend could not, after all these years, allow grace and truth to loosen the grip of old wounds. Perhaps the Sword would never yield to such things. Noah would continue to hope.
For now, Noah simply moved on with the warden’s question. ”I have. I’ve been doing some flying in my griffin shift. I also have a bird shift too, some sort of falcon I’ve seen on the tundra and in other regions. Even without teleportation, I can still get across Caido in a good clip with wings.” It was something that Noah had always wanted as an attuned, and now he had it. Flying was exhilarating, and he remembered fondly when Deimos had introduced him to it by allowing him passage by way of his massive bakunawa shift. He let that slip over the attuned bond, softening it again.
