DEIMOS
No; nothing to be revitalized, rebuilt, reshaped, re-envisioned. He didn’t frown or quarrel over the notions; a decision Ronin and Remi had proclaimed and decided, and so the guild would remain ashen, destroyed, not renewed for any other purpose. He nodded in accord, the comprehension echoing over his mantle, his shoulders, his broad expanse. Reminders of loss were always there, either in spirit or corporeal form. The Fallen Star likely never required prompts or mental notes of a wife’s death; and though he clenched his jaw, he said naught more on the subject. Ghosts seemed to cling to all of them, phantoms and wraiths and specters chasing down their haunting gallows or well-meaning attributes; figures of long ago or just the other day. So too, would the Monster Hunter’s Guild become; shells of moments passed, husks and soil and ash. The alternative to the subject raised was a far better anthem - even if the alchemist and Ronin failed to let Deimos seek some sort of nettled atonement for his actions. “To the mountains?” It might have been the fragments of a smile forming along his mouth; because it had been his intention too – to simply glide amongst and amidst the waves of portals until he reached the band of summits and peaks and cherished the feeling, the longing, the tenors and chords of something that was once home. They weren’t the same, and he wouldn’t expect them to be – but their existence, their presence, would be enough to assure some sort of light, some sort of beacon, some sort of siren inveigling him to press onward.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
