DEIMOS
Deimos was unaware of the ongoings at the Mathair – had only seen the Fae guardings its sanction from within a book, ignorant of the reasons why they lingered around the perimeter of the tree. Last time he’d been there, the Penumbra and himself had been planting the gilded flowers, striving to orchestrate measures against the blight unbeknownst to themselves. He tilted his head, listening to her sigh, to the relief palpable in the room, something to be reassured about, regardless of the factions surrounding them, the ominous, demanding notions curling and coiling beyond doors and windows. The beast presumed it would fissure and collapse back into silence, so his eyes drifted along the hearth again, on the flanking and crackle of fire, hands itching to conjure, to control.
But then there were secrets about the mountains, and his attention was entirely devoted to Rexanna’s domineer and diligence. It was like the old days, primordial flesh and bone conjuring, deciding which disaster they were about to oblige next, which ruin they were about to achieve and diminish, which banner they sought to make their own. It felt right that they conspired about the peaks, the valleys, the ice, the snow, instead of anything else; a path of normalcy and sanctity in the Machiavellian quandaries of the present. “Oh?” He rumbled, the gestures of curiosity obvious and paramount, even in the inkling of his voice, in the happenstance of a curving, coiling snicker. “I know of their existence, and perhaps a way to get there.” Were it anyone else, he might not have been so forward with the information – but they were allies, thieves and kings, they were comrades, and they were family. “Amalia, Jigano, Kiada and I went into the Underground to find Safrin’s library. Within, there was book about portals.” He shrugged, recalling how he’d been the first to test it, out of inquiry, out of inquisition, lifted straight into another view. “When I opened it, it brought me inside the book. And there were signs pointing in different directions – but one unfamiliar. The Fangs.” His chin lifted slightly, mind wandering to the landscape amidst fog and mist. “And when we went, since Kiada joined me, it was like a window, and we could see the mountains.”
But then there were secrets about the mountains, and his attention was entirely devoted to Rexanna’s domineer and diligence. It was like the old days, primordial flesh and bone conjuring, deciding which disaster they were about to oblige next, which ruin they were about to achieve and diminish, which banner they sought to make their own. It felt right that they conspired about the peaks, the valleys, the ice, the snow, instead of anything else; a path of normalcy and sanctity in the Machiavellian quandaries of the present. “Oh?” He rumbled, the gestures of curiosity obvious and paramount, even in the inkling of his voice, in the happenstance of a curving, coiling snicker. “I know of their existence, and perhaps a way to get there.” Were it anyone else, he might not have been so forward with the information – but they were allies, thieves and kings, they were comrades, and they were family. “Amalia, Jigano, Kiada and I went into the Underground to find Safrin’s library. Within, there was book about portals.” He shrugged, recalling how he’d been the first to test it, out of inquiry, out of inquisition, lifted straight into another view. “When I opened it, it brought me inside the book. And there were signs pointing in different directions – but one unfamiliar. The Fangs.” His chin lifted slightly, mind wandering to the landscape amidst fog and mist. “And when we went, since Kiada joined me, it was like a window, and we could see the mountains.”
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
