DEIMOS
Languages of the earth, souls too young to fathom, to do anything but listen gave him pause; because perhaps they’d always thought themselves primordial too, multiple lives swarming around his soul, when they really had nothing, nothing, nothing on these primeval interludes. Humbling, sparks of nothingness suddenly curling behind his thoughts, unworthy, undeserving – only ceasing when music was included. He might’ve laughed, save for the company they kept, too stoic, too cautious, too apprehensive, too strangled in the gaping unknown. Anyone and everyone trading for incantations, and anything else for that matter – roaming genies with prices in their palm and nestled enchantments ready for the taking – temptation and enticement lingering in the depths of those who would likely scrape along desperation. His glance skimmed over the outlines of the world again, narrowing, speculating, pondering how far one would have to fall to perceive an offer, devilish contracts brooding and brewing. Faith in his own abilities, in all of their capabilities, might be safety enough. But he wasn’t about to count an unknown void out – especially with experience in summits, no matter which world they were contained within.
Then, he didn’t have any inquiries (never knew truly what to ask) – absorbing once more, gaze flickering back to the goddess, stars and the cosmos riveting into the corner of his eyes, thinking he ought to look away, but Amalia’s inquiry had him wondering, pondering, all the more. Guardian roles and sacrificial aims, how far some would need to stretch, and if it mattered, if those things could be conquered at all.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
