DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
His mind ricocheted and rolled through the seasons past, pondering over other leaders and rapid turnover of reigns, portal books and scratching over enamel, heart singing for mountains, the scourging of the Mathair, and alterations bordering on the fringes of LongNight. “Well after.” It’d taken time, measures, beyond his realm of understanding, likely orchestrations of divine makings or some other manifestations. His fingers toyed with a dagger from his bag, maneuvering it back and forth between the digits while he thought and considered. What had Zariah been up to in those unknown intervals? Gathering her power, her might, her Merciless accord again? The circumstances around Neron’s rise to power sounded eerily familiar: a declaration and nothing more. Zariah had done much the same, built up her palace, her citadel walls and grounds, then expected the world to cater to her whims. He snorted, a brief dose of cold-blooded humor, derisive and emboldened. The Hollowed Grounds had ascertained they hadn’t needed a ruler either: no sovereign, no tyranny, no assemblage of raw power and ego-trips. Except in the end, it hadn’t mattered, and they still held those roles. A Launcelyn trait, to show up when they were weren’t necessary or wanted. “And how is his rule?” More benevolent than his counterpart – or was it all Zariah behind the scenes anyway?
Unite and spread the heart apart
