the wild screaming weight

Time has stopped before us The sky cannot ignore us Deimos had made a fair number of mistakes in his lifetimes too. Some had been in the cold, malicious wake of his anger, in justice for a friend. And while he might not have regretted the actions, for fire and brimstone and power and devastation, he’d abhorred the outcomes. In all their behest and hunger for vengeance, the Sword had lost his position – but thereafter, they’d rallied in war frames and tossed thrones and then petulant violence for the coveted, icy world. One domino after the next, until they’d been banished and gone and needed to resort to planning from worlds apart. He'd gone far deeper and cooler and measured in calculations now. In this interim, there’d be no point in rising to anger at either Ru’s behest or Sunjata’s actions. Ru had died – delivered them no message, no means, no understanding, until her revival. Sunjata had cut their ties then and there when the actions left him with nothing. Something they could move on from; no ashes, no cinders, no embers, nothing to flare into woe and agony. No newfound children from goddesses. No secret romance. No jaded exes. Just a loss to follow another; and whether or not anyone would take the mantle thereafter. Everything the Valkyrie wanted couldn’t be fit in so small of an idea – but he snorted and nodded just the same. Catching another thermal, his wings extended outwards to hover on the breeze, listening to plans, to the minor motions after fractures. You say maybe. Would you want to stay this way? He’d once been entirely heartless too; chilling, defined only by the bloodshed he could bestow and the indifferent within his mind. Nowadays he reserved it for the battlefield, or for adversaries – but for every day? Every waking moment? What sort of life was that? the Resurrected Sword No one can separate us For we are all that is left