DEIMOS
He’d half-hoped the younger man wouldn’t be there. That he could extend this to another day of dread and trauma, of desolation and isolation. The notions were torn apart, amidst many other ripped pieces, as the door swung open, and revealed Chulane. Confused. Deimos hadn’t known how to send a warning, a foreboding essence, a way to head off the strife. “Chulane,” he nodded, taking the invitation to step inside. On an ordinary day, he’d study and scrutinize angles of buildings and settings of rooms, analyze threats and polish potential safeguards – but today wasn’t one of those, and he had to coincide, angle around the impending damnation.He wasn’t the right for this. But he wouldn’t ask Amalia or Hotaru, or anyone else involved in the debacle. He hadn’t been there. Hadn’t seen it. Maybe that too was a measure of grace; that neither of them had to witness the Harpy going down into flames.
And not rising from them. No phoenix intervals any longer.
“Unfortunately, no.” He couldn’t even smile at the joke, lacquered and layered against the uncertainty, the nervous edges, the discomfort, the grief spiraling and surrounding, and soon to be embedded in this home. Zuriel wandered her way in too, biting delicately the treat she’d received, close by, sensing.
The Sword didn’t take the water, and didn’t know where to start. “You may want to sit. I do not bring good news.”
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
