soldier boy
Huh. Icarus had never thought about it that way. His magic was his, had never known a time where he couldn’t do it, but he’d always shirked the responsibility of using it out of fear of what he could do with it. But he didn’t have to. Just as Nova wields it as something sharp, an offensive slash against a world who wanted to hurt her, maybe Icarus could use it for his means.
Her offer sends a jolt of thrill and utter fear through his bones, the wicked slashes of the training dummy still fresh in his mind and the hay strewing across the floor like fresh-spilled blood. If he got graciously injured during training the company would never let him hear the end of it, and he could guarantee Deimos would never let him out of the barracks ever again.
Still, his offer sparkled at him like the freckles glittering across her face. His fingers itches for something he couldn’t name, to try and use the advice she had bestowed upon him. Pushing his damp curls out of his face, he ties his hair back in a secure ponytail and inches his feet shoulder-width apart into a secure fighting stance.
”I’d appreciate that,” He says quietly, as if Nova had handed him something grand and expensive and very breakable. Conjuring up a more water, dual tendrils of writing streams circle his hands, shining and cold. They look like shackles, almost, the way he conjures them around twisting wrists, and he waits for Nova to instruct him as she sees fit.
Her offer sends a jolt of thrill and utter fear through his bones, the wicked slashes of the training dummy still fresh in his mind and the hay strewing across the floor like fresh-spilled blood. If he got graciously injured during training the company would never let him hear the end of it, and he could guarantee Deimos would never let him out of the barracks ever again.
Still, his offer sparkled at him like the freckles glittering across her face. His fingers itches for something he couldn’t name, to try and use the advice she had bestowed upon him. Pushing his damp curls out of his face, he ties his hair back in a secure ponytail and inches his feet shoulder-width apart into a secure fighting stance.
”I’d appreciate that,” He says quietly, as if Nova had handed him something grand and expensive and very breakable. Conjuring up a more water, dual tendrils of writing streams circle his hands, shining and cold. They look like shackles, almost, the way he conjures them around twisting wrists, and he waits for Nova to instruct him as she sees fit.
Icarus
oh my little soldier boy
