[SE] For all of us

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame When Marcus asked no more, Deimos figured he’d uttered enough. Further descriptions would only lend themselves to a secondary trauma or some blunt-edged nightmares, and there were already a plethora of those to go around. But the younger hybrid was correct; Halo had never been a furtive beast. It showed its abilities, and they stayed anyway, taming portions they could control, and intermingling where they could not. The world taught them just how far they could push until it snapped back. “That is fair.” His dreams of white dragons though caused an inward grimace. Of his mother, of so many others who’d met the same and similar fate. Deimos had his own stories there too, of facing one down and managing to escape, but not without four left behind, gone and done in a matter of seconds. Or the cannibals, of which the Sword had helped eradicate and investigate some, but the rest had been done in amidst invasions, and what little remained had probably died off in the interim. “Halo does have a way of conveying its threats,” he mentioned, taking in a long breath, remembering Cordelia for who and what she’d been, and not as a victim of the beasts. Straying cautiously, he tilted his head instead, a mirror of the peryton above. “What did you hear of Whitebrim?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace