DEIMOS
The world was unfamiliar again – and he took to it with spread wings and a ravenous soul.
Coming through the portal, and back to the Hollowed Grounds, in its smoldering cinders, in its encased devastation, had been a sight. He’d briefly traced over the ruins, walking down familiar streets, avenues, and passages, noticing any pathways he’d once tread had been marred by embers and ash. That the touches, the fringes, the edges where he’d strived to make a mark, blended into the background like old scars. The barracks, once mighty and stalwart and one of his favored places, was now a burnt landscape. He’d turned before he went any further – incapable of seeing the bakery, or his previous domicile.
The Sword lingered long enough in some steads to pick up a few remains, place them amidst debris, and hasten to find Aisha where they’d agreed to meet. Each step was a lingering motion away from these less-than-hallowed regions, a smothering of his breath, an intertwining of smoke still remembered in his lungs. No looking down, no bowing of his head, but no indulgence to step into its wake either.
And when they were ready, they flew.
The world erupted into vibrant color and hues, where the lightning had stopped them before, was only a varnishing, a lacquer of fields upon fields. This was what they’d been after, when the unicorns erupted out of the land, when they’d dug their way through dirt and loam and simply ran out of time, out of strength, out of munitions, out of grace.
What do you think? he finally spoke through the bond, not by measures of what was left behind – but here and now – on the stones marking a winding, winding staircase, of spirals that eventually seemed to cease.
A relief, perhaps, that this land had been untouched by the hells and horrors of late.
Coming through the portal, and back to the Hollowed Grounds, in its smoldering cinders, in its encased devastation, had been a sight. He’d briefly traced over the ruins, walking down familiar streets, avenues, and passages, noticing any pathways he’d once tread had been marred by embers and ash. That the touches, the fringes, the edges where he’d strived to make a mark, blended into the background like old scars. The barracks, once mighty and stalwart and one of his favored places, was now a burnt landscape. He’d turned before he went any further – incapable of seeing the bakery, or his previous domicile.
The Sword lingered long enough in some steads to pick up a few remains, place them amidst debris, and hasten to find Aisha where they’d agreed to meet. Each step was a lingering motion away from these less-than-hallowed regions, a smothering of his breath, an intertwining of smoke still remembered in his lungs. No looking down, no bowing of his head, but no indulgence to step into its wake either.
And when they were ready, they flew.
The world erupted into vibrant color and hues, where the lightning had stopped them before, was only a varnishing, a lacquer of fields upon fields. This was what they’d been after, when the unicorns erupted out of the land, when they’d dug their way through dirt and loam and simply ran out of time, out of strength, out of munitions, out of grace.
What do you think? he finally spoke through the bond, not by measures of what was left behind – but here and now – on the stones marking a winding, winding staircase, of spirals that eventually seemed to cease.
A relief, perhaps, that this land had been untouched by the hells and horrors of late.
gatekeeper of an endless war
where lines between right and wrong
don't exist anymore
