New Faces

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Fiat Lux likely held different connotations for different people, and he could only convey what he’d learned and experienced from the previous year – most of the nuances tucked near and dear to his heart. “It is a celebration of rebirth and renewal after LongNight.” A chance to see which souls had been saved, an opportunity to be something other than consumed by grief, anarchy, or defiance; it had been an alteration in his existence, but a good one. “Last year we had dancing, music, food stalls, kiosks, and games set up.” Amongst the accord was the Wheel of Fire too, which he found difficult to describe without one seeing it for themselves, ensuring the flames still lived, still curled, still coiled, as more and more people strewn into the venue. After surviving two LongNights, he know understood its reverie, its covenant, its ability to continue the everlasting inferno, its necessity to remain alive and whole. He nodded at the agreement to training – perhaps he and Loren could set up another sparring session with any other interested party, assess what they had, who required what. A note to jar him out of his irritation, out of his exasperation, out of his own damned melancholy. At the notion of helpful being weird, it was an adjustment in culture, one he’d struggled with initially too. His experiences with war, with bloodshed, with ruin, hadn’t lent an obliging, supportive blend of spirit beyond upheaval and sedition; but he’d learned quickly, efficiently, that this was how everyone remained intact and whole. “It is how we survive.” A shrug, indifference towards whether Oliver felt out of place or not; he’d be tolerated and accepted just the same, unless he committed to something outlandish, ridiculous, or asinine (a year before; the rift between Outlanders and Naturals had been a stark division, and nowadays, hardly uttered – things altered, things changed, things gradually eroded or sparked). “Do you have any skills? Or magic?” Sometimes it started there – sometimes it started elsewhere, carving names for one’s self by simply lending and blending beyond backdrops and surroundings, a part of the community instead of the ether. How times changed; when the Sword once would’ve merely clung to the shadows and disappeared into the darkness. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace