Serenity

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts The Merciless had a litany of things mandated and proclaimed in her head: rebuilding of broken infrastructures, job opportunities layered into those eager attempts, coin based economies (though why, when bartering had seemed fairly effective), production and means to ends – it sounded all well and good; perhaps it would work out for the best, and they’d be lifted up and up to higher ends. But the way she’d gone about everything, with a lack of understanding about those here, before infiltrating the world, severing ties and tethers, creating and restoring something that might not have required her hand, was something she seemed to fail to comprehend. Maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe she didn’t know how. Plans were one thing, but what would it take to orchestrate and conduct her endeavors, to enrich the lives she now reigned over? He pondered over the division of Naturals and Outlanders too – if it even remained anymore, if the schism was still so broad, black, and white, or if she was just reopening a stitched wound, digging into the laceration, piercing it over and over and over again. Deimos hadn’t even questioned the stigma of magic users, because it’d engrained every aspect of his life. Normalcy – to be ignored, to be forsaken, to be cast aside by deities. But he didn’t ask how she’d meet those credentials either; giving away none of his curiosity. At the very least, amidst his nodding in response to her lengthy list, she considered his latter statement. Safety of those he cared about was paramount, and out in the open, there might’ve been fewer intervals for brazen, emboldened heads to become imprisoned, locked away, when they unleashed their tirades. In the calm, reticent atmosphere though, he turned to her, the piercing shade of his depths revealing naught but fortitude and might. “Ask them what they want to achieve.” The Reaper had learned some valuable life lessons, in another world, amidst icier thrones and a more chilling people, but the methods were still the same: this was their realm, their sovereignty, and he very much doubted the Naturals would let her forget it. the last of a line of lasts