DEIMOS
The Sword’s addled, rattled mind didn’t hold any expectations other than devastation and ruin – just as much a part of him as the magic flowing through his veins, a dominion of constant, unending turmoil. The kindness and benevolence shown, displayed, and granted to him was suddenly an overwhelming thing, and eyes usually stoic or piercing, stark or shrewd, cunning or meticulous, stared in genuine shock.
Because he always remembered a time where he hadn’t earned anything compassionate or warm – I do not deserve this a reverberation sinking down into his spine, and a thousand other echoes resounding back. Yes, you do might have been Rexanna’s voice, unfurling from a dream, or Kiada’s, lost somewhere in flames. For some reason he instantly wanted to hide, to retreat, to coil back into ethers and shadows, to get away from all the piercing light. His gaze went to the hand Morgan had managed to catch, and swallowed down a merciless torrent of sorrow. Deimos nodded at her statement, at the blunt way in which these people had somehow crawled into his life, and how much he’d need to repay them later on (and he would - there was a vow he could maintain).
He did, he did, he did take it to heart. He rested their proclamations upon the drumming beats and along the scars, and hoped it’d all absorb. Reform. Be better. “Thank you,” was a whisper, but there all the same as he bowed his head, uncertain how else to express his gratitude.
With Zuriel gone, glancing back while following Auni, and then turning a corner towards their own destination, he was left with naught to do but lean into their efforts. No fight, not in the midst of his exhaustion, no magic drawn, no onslaught granted. To the best of his ability, he rose once more, but not a tower.
Maybe soon, if he remembered how.
Because he always remembered a time where he hadn’t earned anything compassionate or warm – I do not deserve this a reverberation sinking down into his spine, and a thousand other echoes resounding back. Yes, you do might have been Rexanna’s voice, unfurling from a dream, or Kiada’s, lost somewhere in flames. For some reason he instantly wanted to hide, to retreat, to coil back into ethers and shadows, to get away from all the piercing light. His gaze went to the hand Morgan had managed to catch, and swallowed down a merciless torrent of sorrow. Deimos nodded at her statement, at the blunt way in which these people had somehow crawled into his life, and how much he’d need to repay them later on (and he would - there was a vow he could maintain).
He did, he did, he did take it to heart. He rested their proclamations upon the drumming beats and along the scars, and hoped it’d all absorb. Reform. Be better. “Thank you,” was a whisper, but there all the same as he bowed his head, uncertain how else to express his gratitude.
With Zuriel gone, glancing back while following Auni, and then turning a corner towards their own destination, he was left with naught to do but lean into their efforts. No fight, not in the midst of his exhaustion, no magic drawn, no onslaught granted. To the best of his ability, he rose once more, but not a tower.
Maybe soon, if he remembered how.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
