Damien
you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence
and the ache after the silence
Damien found Deimos the same way you might find a glacier—already there, immovable, working on something older and larger than yourself. The Warden’s back was to him, stone grinding against magic high above the windows where frost had gnawed its way in. Damien slowed, boots crunching through packed snow, and took in the sight with a faint curl of his mouth.
“Not a bad way to be spending the morning,” he said at last, voice rough with the cold. His breath hung between them before drifting off. He stopped a few paces away, furs heavy on his shoulders, and gave a short nod toward the great glass-and-stone face of the Palace. “Palace could swallow a hundred men whole and still look hungry. Guess it keeps you busy.”
He shifted then, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. His hand moved to the folds of his jacket, working careful against the thick leather. “Hey, Deimos…? Before I give you a hand, there’s something I want to show you.” His tone wasn’t quite casual—there was an undercurrent of tension, the kind that meant this wasn’t a thing he’d done lightly.
The jacket stirred, and a pale shape wriggled free against the dark. Damien eased her out, one arm cradling the small bulk of spotted fur until she blinked into the light. Aria’s ears twitched, nose working, long tail flicking once against his sleeve as she squirmed with life and restless energy.
He glanced at Deimos then, steady but not without a touch of wariness, like he wasn’t sure how this was going to land. “This is Aria,” he said simply. No explanation yet, no excuse, just the name laid bare in the space between them.
“Not a bad way to be spending the morning,” he said at last, voice rough with the cold. His breath hung between them before drifting off. He stopped a few paces away, furs heavy on his shoulders, and gave a short nod toward the great glass-and-stone face of the Palace. “Palace could swallow a hundred men whole and still look hungry. Guess it keeps you busy.”
He shifted then, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. His hand moved to the folds of his jacket, working careful against the thick leather. “Hey, Deimos…? Before I give you a hand, there’s something I want to show you.” His tone wasn’t quite casual—there was an undercurrent of tension, the kind that meant this wasn’t a thing he’d done lightly.
The jacket stirred, and a pale shape wriggled free against the dark. Damien eased her out, one arm cradling the small bulk of spotted fur until she blinked into the light. Aria’s ears twitched, nose working, long tail flicking once against his sleeve as she squirmed with life and restless energy.
He glanced at Deimos then, steady but not without a touch of wariness, like he wasn’t sure how this was going to land. “This is Aria,” he said simply. No explanation yet, no excuse, just the name laid bare in the space between them.
