You learn to speak so calmly

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Redemption had never come easily for the Reaper nor Sword; a pile of sins and iniquities, savage acts and dilemmas, seemingly drove him into stalwart and nefarious tactics all in the same measure. That some blame had been censured, erased, from his shoulders did lessen the burden and weight, and while a horde remained lodged and harpooned across his brawn, that Bastien didn’t regard him so maliciously was a relief. He released a held breath, and his voice rumbled. “You are welcome.” With the last of the boxes in place, and nothing more to maneuver from the funeral arrangements, Deimos was free to depart. The expectations were surprising once more at the notions of Rexanna’s things; the man hadn’t thought of it – had only manifested her symbols at the pyre, had forgotten about daggers or shields he’d concocted, made, for her, long, long before. Memories in trinkets and objects were more than he’d ever ask for, so he nodded at the implications, both men understanding one another without having to impart any further into the emotional upheaval. “Find me if there is anything else.” Tasks Rexanna had left behind, that Bastien couldn’t manage on his own – Deimos wasn’t certain, but bestowed the offer regardless. Then he could wander out the door, back out into the world without the Penumbra in it. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace