DEIMOS
On the air, chasing after nothingness – a venture gained, and naught else. He floated, coasted, and hovered along the heights of the sea winds and contorted breezes, the salt not stinging – too much freedom, too much liberation, diving and spiraling into it because he could. The last interval he’d maintained amongst the Miana Pool had been with the L’ma’s antics and exploits, a horde of individuals contorting around the creature as they sought to help, assist, and likely overwhelm.But now there were hardly traces of anyone, quiet and still, a preference of his: inclining to descend further and further, and only then did he catch the movements, motions, of another. He watched a stone soar, ripples in the pool, and if it were someone like Kiada, or Amalia, he might have dove down to catch it, just to be obnoxious and mischievous.
It was the alchemist, however, and something about the demeanor, about the ways the earth tilted, scorched, and scarred around him, insinuated he wouldn’t appreciate the jocular display. So the Sword slowly traced along the air, watching, waiting, greeting with a rumble along attuned links. Remi. No inquiry as to how the man had been; the monumental weights of loss never really went away, and he had no intentions of poking, of prodding.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
