remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
Similar components and factions indeed, her foretold rank the same as the one he currently embodied. He arched a brow again, but otherwise remained neutral on the subject – pondering how her world might’ve enacted such a pathway. His hadn’t seemed to pluck anyone in particular, no one groomed or trained to a position, only soldiers who’d proven themselves time and time and time again. Survivors, vital thinkers, effective strategists, and capable instructors, meant to fortify their teams, their comrades, their allies, into a working machine of violence, mayhem, and distortion. So he nodded in return, one hand gesturing towards the armaments and weapons she’d been inspecting earlier. “Grab a blade then,” acceptance in his tones, an ease in his bones, eternally ready, fervent, for frays, for practice, for honing precision in arms. To assist another in the same was his role, one he’d applied readily throughout the passing seasons. Whether or not it would do any good for those training and honing themselves would remain to be seen – but if they were made of the fortifying might he suspected, then they would be fine come LongNight, or any other circumstances unfurling their way.
He turned, his own sword already tucked along his belt, marching out into the grounds, waiting for her to do the same, follow, until they came to a blank space not occupied by targets, catapults, or any other training devices. No need: this would be a simple orchestration of skills. He withdrew the munition, the familiar pommel and hilt eager in his calloused hands, the rest of his form adapting into a precise stance, weight and balance grounded into the earth. "When you are ready," insinuating for her to come make the first strike.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
