We've got the right to live, fight to use it
Marcus listened as Deimos spoke, the faint snort and the casual way he dismissed the memory doing little to hide the weight behind it. Escorting the Mathair anywhere sounded like the sort of task that could unravel quickly if even one thing went wrong. Marcus had only heard his father’s perspective from when they were cleansing the Greatwood, but even the fragments painted something volatile.
Standing beside Deimos always carried a strange awareness with it. The man had the solid patience of someone who had seen far too much to be easily shaken. Marcus knew enough of Caido’s recent history to understand that Deimos had been at the center of more than a few of its disasters. The stories clung to him the way the storm clung to the coastline: persistent, unavoidable. Marcus wondered, not for the first time, what it must be like to carry that many memories. Not just the victories, but the close calls. The things that had nearly gone wrong.
His cerulean gaze drifted briefly to Belial again as the peryton wheeled through the rain, then back to the Sword. Curiosity edged into his expression, the kind that came from someone young enough to still be collecting the shape of the world around him. ”Is the Mathair the worst you’ve seen?” The Mathair sounded dangerous enough on its own, but Marcus suspected that if Deimos considered it merely something he’d rather not repeat, then there were far worse moments buried in those years. He knew there was the war, that Deimos had fought on the Draig, but Noah had always been careful to guard the details that were too dark for young ears.
Standing beside Deimos always carried a strange awareness with it. The man had the solid patience of someone who had seen far too much to be easily shaken. Marcus knew enough of Caido’s recent history to understand that Deimos had been at the center of more than a few of its disasters. The stories clung to him the way the storm clung to the coastline: persistent, unavoidable. Marcus wondered, not for the first time, what it must be like to carry that many memories. Not just the victories, but the close calls. The things that had nearly gone wrong.
His cerulean gaze drifted briefly to Belial again as the peryton wheeled through the rain, then back to the Sword. Curiosity edged into his expression, the kind that came from someone young enough to still be collecting the shape of the world around him. ”Is the Mathair the worst you’ve seen?” The Mathair sounded dangerous enough on its own, but Marcus suspected that if Deimos considered it merely something he’d rather not repeat, then there were far worse moments buried in those years. He knew there was the war, that Deimos had fought on the Draig, but Noah had always been careful to guard the details that were too dark for young ears.
Marcus
Got everything but you can just choose it
