Damien
there's some good in this
world worth fighting for
world worth fighting for
Damien didn’t pretend to know what it was like—new world under your feet, a crown dropped on your head whether you wanted it or not. He’d never worn either. But he’d lived long enough, seen enough, to recognize the kind of weight a man carried whether he asked for it or not.
“Doesn’t sound like anyone would wear it easy,” he said after a beat, voice low but not doubting. His gaze lingered on Remi’s shoulders, the tired way they’d sunk when he spoke of bargains and twisted promises. “But from where I’m standing, you wear it well enough. Doesn’t matter if you chose it. What matters is you’ve carried it, and kept the people you care about safe. That’s more than most could say.”
Aria purred louder at that moment, as if in agreement, and Damien’s mouth twitched faintly. He noticed the weight of the stone in his pocket as he shifted his stance, and pulled it out to brush his thumb over its smooth green surface. “Not everyone’s given the chance to stand that close to the gods. Not that I’d rush to it myself, but…” He exhaled, a small shrug. “I can see why someone might.”
The corner of his mouth tugged in wry acknowledgement, the words carrying less envy than plain truth.
When Remi balked at the mention of Frey, Damien’s brows rose, surprise flickering in his dark eyes as he lifted them back up. “Terrible?” he echoed, tilting his head as if weighing how much of that was laughter and how much was raw memory. “That’s… interesting. Not what I’d expect to hear.”
He glanced toward Aria—who had, by now, grown restless again and found something to chase in the nearby grass—and back again, his tone curious, cautious. “I’ve had dealings with them, recently. So I’d be curious to hear what kind of trouble they’ve given you.”
“Doesn’t sound like anyone would wear it easy,” he said after a beat, voice low but not doubting. His gaze lingered on Remi’s shoulders, the tired way they’d sunk when he spoke of bargains and twisted promises. “But from where I’m standing, you wear it well enough. Doesn’t matter if you chose it. What matters is you’ve carried it, and kept the people you care about safe. That’s more than most could say.”
Aria purred louder at that moment, as if in agreement, and Damien’s mouth twitched faintly. He noticed the weight of the stone in his pocket as he shifted his stance, and pulled it out to brush his thumb over its smooth green surface. “Not everyone’s given the chance to stand that close to the gods. Not that I’d rush to it myself, but…” He exhaled, a small shrug. “I can see why someone might.”
The corner of his mouth tugged in wry acknowledgement, the words carrying less envy than plain truth.
When Remi balked at the mention of Frey, Damien’s brows rose, surprise flickering in his dark eyes as he lifted them back up. “Terrible?” he echoed, tilting his head as if weighing how much of that was laughter and how much was raw memory. “That’s… interesting. Not what I’d expect to hear.”
He glanced toward Aria—who had, by now, grown restless again and found something to chase in the nearby grass—and back again, his tone curious, cautious. “I’ve had dealings with them, recently. So I’d be curious to hear what kind of trouble they’ve given you.”
