DEIMOS
Deimos had long since donned his armor, rapaciously pacing floors and keeping his attentive, predator senses honed. Last year, he’d gone and opened the doors alongside Bastien, as Edrei screamed, as Amalia was placed into his arms, dead and almost certainly gone. The memories were rancorous edges, pulsing over him in waves, but not enough to cease the draw of his blade, at the thud, at the knocking, at the pounding along their threshold. Magic seared and sizzled along the intricacies of his veins and flesh, simmering over his skin, ready to be ignited and harpooned; his eyes drifting to Jigano, to Amalia, to Adam, a steady, stalwart nod bolstered to whatever she decided.They were strong. They were capable. They didn’t have any other choice in these seconds, in these intervals.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
