Damien
you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence
and the ache after the silence
Damien stepped back from the wall he’d been working, flexing his stiff fingers as the last of the mortar set. From above, Deimos’ reply carried down like a short roll of distant thunder, and when Damien tilted his head, he caught the faint shadow of wings against the pale stone before the Warden came down to meet him. He watched the layers of magic knit into the Palace’s bones, shoring up faults that would’ve taken him weeks to patch by hand.
Aria kneaded his shoulder with sleepy paws, purring like she’d already claimed victory for the both of them. Damien just huffed and bent to scoop away the rubble at his feet, clearing the snow-packed grit from the corners so the seams would stay tight. It wasn’t much compared to what Deimos was doing, but clean walls held better, and the small things added up.
Once the last of it was cleared, he turned his attention inward. The Palace’s lower halls were bare and cold, stone biting through to the marrow. Damien fetched several bundles of wood that had been stored already, stacking them by the hearths where it would be easiest to reach when the dark came pressing in. He shook out a rolled tarp, laying it flat over a seam in the floor where the draft had been worst, then moved a few old benches he'd seen lying around closer to the walls so people wouldn’t be left sitting on cold stone.
Practical comforts. The kind you didn’t miss until you needed them.
When he straightened, rubbing a bit of grit from his palms, he glanced up at Deimos, a faint curve to his mouth. “Walls and windows should hold now. Firewood, shelter from the wind, places to sit… come LongNight, this place will be livable. I can make some blankets as well, bring 'em by later.”
Aria yawned into his ear, unimpressed, and Damien gave her an absent scratch before adding, “Not bad for a day’s work.”
Aria kneaded his shoulder with sleepy paws, purring like she’d already claimed victory for the both of them. Damien just huffed and bent to scoop away the rubble at his feet, clearing the snow-packed grit from the corners so the seams would stay tight. It wasn’t much compared to what Deimos was doing, but clean walls held better, and the small things added up.
Once the last of it was cleared, he turned his attention inward. The Palace’s lower halls were bare and cold, stone biting through to the marrow. Damien fetched several bundles of wood that had been stored already, stacking them by the hearths where it would be easiest to reach when the dark came pressing in. He shook out a rolled tarp, laying it flat over a seam in the floor where the draft had been worst, then moved a few old benches he'd seen lying around closer to the walls so people wouldn’t be left sitting on cold stone.
Practical comforts. The kind you didn’t miss until you needed them.
When he straightened, rubbing a bit of grit from his palms, he glanced up at Deimos, a faint curve to his mouth. “Walls and windows should hold now. Firewood, shelter from the wind, places to sit… come LongNight, this place will be livable. I can make some blankets as well, bring 'em by later.”
Aria yawned into his ear, unimpressed, and Damien gave her an absent scratch before adding, “Not bad for a day’s work.”
