DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Actions committed, the playing field resolutely known from opposing ends – no semblance, no sense in bombarding instantly in fire and vitriol, vehemence and violence. Either way drawn would end poorly, and though Deimos was the exact individual who would’ve regarded such moments as ritual, routine from days of leading, he also understood the value of other tactics. Heading straight into melees when there were a range of possibilities available was foolish, tantamount to impulsivity, stupidity, and foolish notions. They could lose anything, everything, they’d managed to gain. The monolith placed the papers he’d been holding back into his pockets, attention back to the current, present matters; eyes lifting back to the Fae. And what were they going to do? Curiosity compelled: ceasefires, truces? An armistice amidst the thresholds? Or something bigger, far more potent, with their need for allies? An even playing field? Factors upon factors, figments upon figments, a conversation between Ascended and Fae would be a challenging faculty on mere outlines alone. Maybe something beneficial, advantageous, would come of it. Maybe something far more feral would rear its fanged horizons.
Then there were the words: consequences for actions, for assaulting the Mathair, for the Fae desecrated, for the goddess ruined, marred, shattered. Understandable, the need for justice, the yearning for semblances of retribution. The Aurora Basin had thrived on it; spiraled and exalted in their revenge – even if her proclamations insisted that it wasn’t vengeance. A dangerous cycle, regardless; he tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, focused on the other parameters. “Reasonable.” A pause again, considerations, of days past and individuals lost. “Are you aware of the other Ascended involved?” Names? Faces? He couldn’t fathom Wessex giving up the titles of her kin.
Unite and spread the heart apart
