i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty
The world around them was quiet – not feral, not something made for stalking predators or roaming catacombs, merely lacking in the activities of the day. The guards had gone to the festival, reunited with loved ones or staring out in shock, wandering back home to await Deepfrost’s fathoms. The snow fell outside without a sound. The fire in the hearth crackled. Nothing else to drown out the ricocheting echoes bounding and leaping through his mind. Nothing else to overwhelm the memories, to wash away the curling, coiling reverberations of hearts breaking. Maybe this was where they had to stop pretending, stop bending, stop masking.
“Vi changed her. Made her a demigod,” he started, head still hanging low, piercing eyes pinpointed, rooted to the floor. “She came home to tell me you had died.” And then a breath, harsher and rankling, grated over his lungs and chest. “And that she needed to find herself. That she did not know who she was anymore.” And in the end, he’d seen how little he’d mattered, how much he’d done and how his love, no matter how deep, hadn’t been enough. “So she left me.” The tears didn’t flicker or fall down his face, but they threatened and loomed behind his eyes, why he couldn’t look up at her, why he couldn’t let her see his shame, hjs torment, his despair.
He made no mention of how, afterwards, ill and despondent and scattered and laden only with sorrow, he’d wandered. He’d wandered here, alone and alone and alone, and waited to die, to be consumed with his misery and wretchedness, and how even then, there’d been enough to pull him back. There’d been people, willing, to reach out. His jaw clenched and his hands grasped onto hers, tighter, because reliving it over and over again drained him, made him want to hide, made him yearn to flee. But not from Kiada. Just from the rest of the realm.
And if only the Sword could stop there, if that could be the end of the knives carving their way through hearts and bonds and souls. “There is a group, called the Order, intending to rid Caido of the Ascended and take down the Voice.” Deimos finally raised his cranium, tilting it vaguely, to gain her insight, her reactions, to the upcoming implications. “The demigods have been placed somewhere. I do not know if they are connected, but I have my suspicions.” Would he mind the Voice being rendered apart? No. But to maul the Ascended, upon some who didn’t deserve the plight? No. Did he believe Amalia, Remi, Ronin, or Delphia would march their way and slay through the hordes? No.
But there were always too many other outliers. Too many other circumstances. Just like now, with the newly resurrected. With their new allegiances and alliances.
“Vi changed her. Made her a demigod,” he started, head still hanging low, piercing eyes pinpointed, rooted to the floor. “She came home to tell me you had died.” And then a breath, harsher and rankling, grated over his lungs and chest. “And that she needed to find herself. That she did not know who she was anymore.” And in the end, he’d seen how little he’d mattered, how much he’d done and how his love, no matter how deep, hadn’t been enough. “So she left me.” The tears didn’t flicker or fall down his face, but they threatened and loomed behind his eyes, why he couldn’t look up at her, why he couldn’t let her see his shame, hjs torment, his despair.
He made no mention of how, afterwards, ill and despondent and scattered and laden only with sorrow, he’d wandered. He’d wandered here, alone and alone and alone, and waited to die, to be consumed with his misery and wretchedness, and how even then, there’d been enough to pull him back. There’d been people, willing, to reach out. His jaw clenched and his hands grasped onto hers, tighter, because reliving it over and over again drained him, made him want to hide, made him yearn to flee. But not from Kiada. Just from the rest of the realm.
And if only the Sword could stop there, if that could be the end of the knives carving their way through hearts and bonds and souls. “There is a group, called the Order, intending to rid Caido of the Ascended and take down the Voice.” Deimos finally raised his cranium, tilting it vaguely, to gain her insight, her reactions, to the upcoming implications. “The demigods have been placed somewhere. I do not know if they are connected, but I have my suspicions.” Would he mind the Voice being rendered apart? No. But to maul the Ascended, upon some who didn’t deserve the plight? No. Did he believe Amalia, Remi, Ronin, or Delphia would march their way and slay through the hordes? No.
But there were always too many other outliers. Too many other circumstances. Just like now, with the newly resurrected. With their new allegiances and alliances.
or your stubbornness?
DEIMOS
