[SE] all is not frost

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame They fell into silence and work, precision amidst the foundations. Along the interim of stone and ice and chiseling, Deimos conjured his own routine – magic sweeping over the sanctions, indicating weakened portions, his brows furrowing when the range defined just out of reach of his incantations. “Need to go higher,” he indicated, as perhaps a warning to Damien and an apology to the cub, for he wouldn’t risk her as he intended to meander further. Gently coaxing her off his shoulders, careful of claws, he took a few steps back before half-shifting, thunderbird wings soaring outwards with their stark, vivid blue plumage. Taking several practiced motions with the long feathers, the massive avian assortments snagged at the wind, pulsing him towards the portions of the Palace slightly out of reach – that way he’d be able to utilize his magic without scaling out a window. At that though, Belial grew ever smugger, giving a cheeky grin to the leopard cub before following his bonded – soaring with ease along the greater, grander heights. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace