Damien
my fire is starved of oxygen
a flicker in the howling wind
a flicker in the howling wind
Damien struck flint to steel, the spark catching fast. A small, steady flame bloomed in the lantern’s glass, pushing back the mist in soft gold. The others made their opinions known—snorts, muttered jokes, the usual Halo bravado.
He didn’t bother to argue. If they wanted to laugh, fine. He wasn’t about to stumble blind into a fissure because he’d been too proud to light a lantern. The glow caught in the fog, throwing soft gold across the stone. “Go ahead,” he muttered, tone wry. “Mock the man who likes to see where he’s stepping. We’ll see who laughs when one of you walks into a lava vent.”
He adjusted the wick, testing the light against the steam, then glanced toward Noah and Iskra through the haze. “Can’t all see in the dark, you know.”
He straightened, just in time to see Noah shift—bones stretching, wings curling, scales flashing dull bronze in the steam. The best way he knew how to describe what he was seeing was dragon-horse, though he'd be lying if he said he'd ever seen something like that before. Damien blinked once, slowly, then huffed something halfway between amusement and disbelief.
Iskra and Noah had already started filling a bucket, passing it carefully toward him across the rock. The steam turned everything soft and uncertain; even their movements looked slow, dreamlike. Damien caught the bucket’s rim, the metal hot beneath his palms, and tipped it toward the first barrel. The sound of water pouring echoed strange in the cavern—like the world sighing through its teeth.
“Good,” he said, passing the bucket back, “Let’s keep it steady. Don’t want to find out what happens when Frey’s bathwater spills on magma.”
He didn’t bother to argue. If they wanted to laugh, fine. He wasn’t about to stumble blind into a fissure because he’d been too proud to light a lantern. The glow caught in the fog, throwing soft gold across the stone. “Go ahead,” he muttered, tone wry. “Mock the man who likes to see where he’s stepping. We’ll see who laughs when one of you walks into a lava vent.”
He adjusted the wick, testing the light against the steam, then glanced toward Noah and Iskra through the haze. “Can’t all see in the dark, you know.”
He straightened, just in time to see Noah shift—bones stretching, wings curling, scales flashing dull bronze in the steam. The best way he knew how to describe what he was seeing was dragon-horse, though he'd be lying if he said he'd ever seen something like that before. Damien blinked once, slowly, then huffed something halfway between amusement and disbelief.
Iskra and Noah had already started filling a bucket, passing it carefully toward him across the rock. The steam turned everything soft and uncertain; even their movements looked slow, dreamlike. Damien caught the bucket’s rim, the metal hot beneath his palms, and tipped it toward the first barrel. The sound of water pouring echoed strange in the cavern—like the world sighing through its teeth.
“Good,” he said, passing the bucket back, “Let’s keep it steady. Don’t want to find out what happens when Frey’s bathwater spills on magma.”
beware the night is closing in
and if i fall asleep, the shadows win
and if i fall asleep, the shadows win
