Theea
if you can't blow them away with your brilliance
Really, why haven’t I just moved here already? I’m always in Halo, always searching for some excuse to drift back into its cold embrace. I used to think it would be too hard to live here again, too heavy with memory—but every time I return, I find myself settling as if I’d never left. Torchline still holds me, though. My Nonna told me once to settle where home is, and I think I’m still trying to figure out exactly where that is. For now, Torchline gives me family, connection, something I can’t walk away from yet. But when that part of me feels secure… what then?
Maybe then I’ll stop wandering. Maybe then I’ll find home.
For now, I’m content to bounce between coast and mountain. Today the air is sharp in my lungs, crisp and biting, seeping through the lighter layers I always insist on for sparring. I’ll warm up quick enough. Afterwards, there’ll be firelight and cider at the Kraai to thaw me out.
The Barracks aren’t quiet like last time, when Damien and I had the place to ourselves. Now they’re alive: steel ringing against steel, voices shouting with good-natured jeers, laughter spilling out when a strike lands true or a partner stumbles. The camaraderie isn’t something I crave for myself, but gods, it makes for good practice. It's a decent place to sharpen skill in a storm of others doing the same.
I pace toward a practice dummy, unsheathing my shortsword and giving it a quick spin. Its weight is still strange, so unlike my daggers, but my hands are beginning to learn it. I’ll keep both sharp—no way I’m losing what I’ve worked for. And this, too, will become a weapon I can trust.
I draw back for my first swing, but the sight of a familiar figure catches me. My blade cuts wide, careless, as a grin spreads across my face. Perfect. He’d said he would, hadn’t he?
Sliding the shortsword back into place, I cross the packed snow with a bounce in my step.
“Deimos!” My breath clouds in the cold as I call out. “Are you busy?”
Maybe then I’ll stop wandering. Maybe then I’ll find home.
For now, I’m content to bounce between coast and mountain. Today the air is sharp in my lungs, crisp and biting, seeping through the lighter layers I always insist on for sparring. I’ll warm up quick enough. Afterwards, there’ll be firelight and cider at the Kraai to thaw me out.
The Barracks aren’t quiet like last time, when Damien and I had the place to ourselves. Now they’re alive: steel ringing against steel, voices shouting with good-natured jeers, laughter spilling out when a strike lands true or a partner stumbles. The camaraderie isn’t something I crave for myself, but gods, it makes for good practice. It's a decent place to sharpen skill in a storm of others doing the same.
I pace toward a practice dummy, unsheathing my shortsword and giving it a quick spin. Its weight is still strange, so unlike my daggers, but my hands are beginning to learn it. I’ll keep both sharp—no way I’m losing what I’ve worked for. And this, too, will become a weapon I can trust.
I draw back for my first swing, but the sight of a familiar figure catches me. My blade cuts wide, careless, as a grin spreads across my face. Perfect. He’d said he would, hadn’t he?
Sliding the shortsword back into place, I cross the packed snow with a bounce in my step.
“Deimos!” My breath clouds in the cold as I call out. “Are you busy?”
baffle them with your bullshit
