[seasonal event] wasted faith

Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace The first inquiry gave him pause again, mulling and musing over the foundations of both worlds he’d once solidified his treachery, his brutality, and his convictions within. What constituted a lot? The soldier of the Edge had pierced his blade into flesh of invaders, and it still hadn’t mattered how many he’d wounded, how many he’d murdered, how many he’d try to tear apart – they’d lost. The General of the Basin had swept his way into the Dragon’s Throat and claimed small victories, while their DarkEmpress had fallen apart and fellow warriors fragmented on the front lines – they’d lost. The King of the Auroras had rampaged into the midst of the Hidden Falls, no longer so subversive, no secret, charging amongst his fury – they’d won. Everything else had been combined into challenges and barbarity, stealing back those who’d been taken from them, allowing his flesh, his bones, his soul to be skewered a thousand times over for those he’d sworn to protect. That had just been in Helovia. Isilme was another series of circumstances, of sieges and assaults amongst the youth, their celebrating glee at tiny, minute conquests dying off when reality pierced them all, and their friends, their comrades, fell at their sides. “Yes,” was the simplistic answer, eyes gazing upon his basket, as if memorizing the lines like they were his scars, woven and webbed. “Four,” came after. Four that mattered, four that honed, four that still twisted into his gut like knives and daggers. Rigidly sticking to laws wasn’t in his livelihood either – but such had been the world of unattainable, unreachable designs – never showing his hand too soon, never allowing realms and kingdoms know enough until it was too late. His heart was clustered and coiled in rebellion, his mind echoing amidst irreverence, sedition, and insurrection – it was how he’d eventually harnessed a reputation in Helovia. It was how he’d spread his malice, his menace. It was how he’d forged vengeance. Even here and now, amongst Caido, they’d driven their grinding gears into bakery basements, striving, attempting, to fight back against tyrants. Same thresholds, same echoes, same fabrications – his gaze lifted briefly to square itself on Adam, on those he’d found, despite transitions of time and space. “Somewhat. Helovia was built upon kingdoms, alliances, deceit, and chaos. We had gods, monsters, and wanderers.” Shifting seasons, swift changes, diseases, despair, pieces and fragments of hope. “And yours?”

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