DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
He maneuvered onward, goals to accomplish, the militia grounds to inspect, training rites to be re-established, muscles and precision honed, a way to peel away the thousands of other layers rampaging down the filaments of his skull. The other responded, and he turned his head back over his shoulder while entering the aperture, standing along the threshold, bordered between fallen shadows and pressing light, an arch to his brow signaling the depths of curiosity. “Yes,” agreement on his presence, and not much else, because he didn’t recognize the man at all. Perhaps he’d been too busy, too distracted, too deterred, pulled in multitudes of directions and trying to be in all of them at once. The Sword tilted his head a fraction, completely unaware of any apprehension from the stranger’s point of view. He considered him to be like many others, requiring training, some advice on where to start, a hint of weaponry, the practiced hold of a munition, of brandishing armaments to eventually fell foes. “Who are you?” Names and introductions, the sort of formality he’d kept from days in Helovia – even though most of the time amidst the mountains, he might not have cared about titles other than what they were talented in, where they scalded, where they held merit. This world, constantly changing, had eroded him to this figure now, Colossus within his barracks, trying to defend inhabitants that didn’t understand how to calculate beyond impulsive, reckless dominions. Then he stepped within, pushing the door wider, a single, beckoning hand waving the man within. “Come in.” Comfortable in the parlor, in the entire expanse, he dropped his bag upon a chair and began to rummage through some materials along the table, eyes going over where he’d left off, before lifting back to the unfamiliar figure. “What can I do for you?”
Unite and spread the heart apart
