remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
Her remark earned another arch to his brow, a muffled snort, and the slightest inclination of a smile. The Reaper had been a devoted beast in the highlands, intent on conquering, devastating, and unleashing hell on anything threatening the lives of his people, of his kingdom. Tall, monolithic, broad, and unrelenting – a savage heathen brought forth into ice and glaciers. The Sword had become a steadfast constant in the way of trial and tribulation, and perhaps they’d melded and molded together into some figment of reliability, trusted, dedicated to withholding exactly as he’d said. But he’d always wanted his words to hold meaning, however little was offered or proclaimed, for his actions to bear weight, for the eloquence in his motions to be significant. “We will see,” he prospered in return, if the world would trickle down and batter him again, if his efforts would be in vain, if in the end, it didn’t really matter what he did. Perhaps his accomplishments were insignificant, trivial at best, and he was merely swimming against currents far too wide and far too vast. But he wouldn’t give in without a fight.
His features returned to their residual, habitual stoicism as Morgan described her alterations on the Ascended. He could recall a Captain intent on destruction, on mayhem, on distortion amongst and amidst those foreign to her soil, and now, a Warden altered. Neutrality, standing on both sides instead of either, and he wouldn’t begrudge her for it. His own experiences had inclined his stances – his best friend had become amongst the Voice’s brethren because she’d found a way to make herself into something of her own making – and he’d never faulted Rexanna for it. The Voice herself was not a being to be trusted, and had made that perfectly clear on a multitude of occasions. The Sword wouldn’t make any declaration to persuade her though; Morgan’s decision and declaration was her own.
So he wouldn’t persist or pursue the Neron angle; not now. Perhaps it’d been nothing, and he’d thought more specious depths were there.
Instead, he granted a nod, comprehending, understanding, then tilting his head in thought, of recent intervals in the same bar. “What of the Fae then? I spoke with one, Juniper, who seemed inclined to discuss Ascended matters with you.”
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
