Damien
the woods have remembered you
Theea’s shot cracked against his shoulder this time, spraying powder up into his jaw. Damien grunted, half laughing as he shook the sting from his coat. “Alright,” he muttered, voice dry but threaded with warmth, “guess I deserved that one.”But then the battlefield shifted. Deimos’s volley didn’t come one snowball at a time—it came on the wind itself, a scattershot flurry carried like sleet through the arena. Damien swore under his breath, ducking low as the air erupted around him, snow bursting across his barricade and spraying against his back. One stray caught his ribs and left him wheezing out a laugh despite himself.
“You see that?” he called over toward
He leaned just far enough to catch her across the field, eyes glinting beneath his lashes. “You and me,” he called, low but carrying, “we put him down first. Then we settle our own scores.” As if that was even possible. A more likely ending was death via magical snowballs, or flying pigs.
Without waiting for an answer, Damien rose half out of his crouch and let fly—arm snapping with a practiced arc. The snowball whistled across the arena toward Deimos, aimed not to break the Warden’s defenses but to rattle them, to keep him occupied.
He ducked back down as another stray blast of snow broke against his wall.
ever since the first time you got lost in them
