DEIMOS
It was tiring, year after year after year, to make lanterns for the dead.
Not in the laborious aspect, but in the heart-wrenching, exhausting modicums, when he was forced to remember, to recall, the echoes of final breaths, the chilling, bone-crushing weight of an abyss he’d yet to follow them into. Seasons before had been fringes and vestiges of kinship and camaraderie, and this one threatened to split him apart. A hallmark of his failures, of loss, loss, loss, where he hadn’t been able to prevent any of it, again and again. Why he thought he’d have a hand in shielding, in guarding, was a mystery, when all he’d ever been capable of was unleashing spans of demolition, watching the world crack, fizzle, at his feet.
He could mourn for eternities, if permitted. Sometimes it felt like he had anyway.
The Sword stared over the long table at his disposal outside of the barracks, where he would’ve planned, sketched, diagrammed, or contorted some new weaponry. Instead, his eyes were filled with the figments of two lanterns; the bases constructed, the rest of the materials in place, ready for him to construct, to further render it reality. They couldn’t come back. He couldn’t meet them yet. They’d gone before him, much as he’d done to them in a prior life; placed his bones in the sides of mountains and then could do naught else as the realms careened, crashed, and splintered away.
Zuriel glanced at him from her place nearby, under an awning, and he could feel the eyes upon him, watching, waiting, for him to fracture again. Instead, he bent his head and got to work, to maneuver the pieces, to move onward, to establish some semblance of existing without them – for now.
{Open Lantern thread! <3}
Not in the laborious aspect, but in the heart-wrenching, exhausting modicums, when he was forced to remember, to recall, the echoes of final breaths, the chilling, bone-crushing weight of an abyss he’d yet to follow them into. Seasons before had been fringes and vestiges of kinship and camaraderie, and this one threatened to split him apart. A hallmark of his failures, of loss, loss, loss, where he hadn’t been able to prevent any of it, again and again. Why he thought he’d have a hand in shielding, in guarding, was a mystery, when all he’d ever been capable of was unleashing spans of demolition, watching the world crack, fizzle, at his feet.
He could mourn for eternities, if permitted. Sometimes it felt like he had anyway.
The Sword stared over the long table at his disposal outside of the barracks, where he would’ve planned, sketched, diagrammed, or contorted some new weaponry. Instead, his eyes were filled with the figments of two lanterns; the bases constructed, the rest of the materials in place, ready for him to construct, to further render it reality. They couldn’t come back. He couldn’t meet them yet. They’d gone before him, much as he’d done to them in a prior life; placed his bones in the sides of mountains and then could do naught else as the realms careened, crashed, and splintered away.
Zuriel glanced at him from her place nearby, under an awning, and he could feel the eyes upon him, watching, waiting, for him to fracture again. Instead, he bent his head and got to work, to maneuver the pieces, to move onward, to establish some semblance of existing without them – for now.
{Open Lantern thread! <3}
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
