It should’ve been a routine stop along Torchline – run some errands, go home. Perhaps Deimos had taken for granted all those times they’d gone to shrines together – from when the baby was simply strapped to his back, harnessed along, either asleep or restless. Moment after moment, placing down offerings for the Old Gods, or embedding multitudes for Safrin. For every ounce of his fortitude, calculations, and preparations, he’d hadn’t once considered the toddler rambling about his legs, hastening back and forth, to have any ulterior motives.
But Erebos seemed to be of his own mind, and within an instant, had grown, altered, and changed.
It had taken multitudes of control to not panic; for his nerves to steel over the consternations, to brush aside the familiar rushes of trepidation and apprehension angling down the notches of his spine, threatening to wind in his pulse. He took a breath and forged himself, glancing down, then crouching, so he was face to face with his son. And before anything else could unfurl, he tilted his head, careful, diligent, the ignorance binding him, hands coming up to cradle the youth’s face between his palms, an inspection, a validation. “Are you alright?”
But Erebos seemed to be of his own mind, and within an instant, had grown, altered, and changed.
It had taken multitudes of control to not panic; for his nerves to steel over the consternations, to brush aside the familiar rushes of trepidation and apprehension angling down the notches of his spine, threatening to wind in his pulse. He took a breath and forged himself, glancing down, then crouching, so he was face to face with his son. And before anything else could unfurl, he tilted his head, careful, diligent, the ignorance binding him, hands coming up to cradle the youth’s face between his palms, an inspection, a validation. “Are you alright?”
deimos
Never let them drain the river of your soul
