DEIMOS
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
He thought the words completed: those denizens reached and outstretched, gifts proffered and received, and somehow, by the end of it, he’d been accepted into a guild. What the beast didn’t expect, after Remi’s assurance nothing else was required, was an extension of anything there being free to use – an unlimited source of potential, of collaboration (and even that nuance was a foreign concept to him – when it shouldn’t have been, not after battlefields and raids with comrades, not after flour throngs amidst friends, not after startling, terrifying quests in dungeons and caverns). He nodded, thoughtful, as he looked across the expanse, everything at his disposal, like a newly fledged kingdom, bountiful and prosperous, no need to look any further than the gilded reaches here. “Thank you,” he added again, as if was the only thing he said, but meant wholeheartedly. Remi had already given and granted him far too much. The beast thought about reaching across to pat the alchemist on the shoulder, but then presumed better on it – a small smile curled there instead, even if the other couldn’t see it. “I shall consider it.” Then he grabbed hold of his bag, lifting it along his shoulder, eager to peruse, now that he was aware of an endless curiosity and intrigue before him. “Until we meet again.” Thereafter, he was a shadow, embarking down paths and avenues, rapt and attentive, striving to learn all he could.
They're wrong
