I carried my own ashes to the mountains
He’d heard the tale of Neron before; the way it had surmised and spiraled in the same factions as his relative: Zariah. Loren had been the black sheep of the family by sheer demonstration of caring about others – though none of them, not any soul lingering in these worlds, weren’t free of some horrible decision, some weighted burden. “Understandable.” It was a wonder why Neron hadn’t been banished completely from the land – perhaps an agreement between him and Morgan.
But thereafter came the veracity, and he couldn’t help but puncture a hollowed laugh throughout; it ricocheted and volleyed back along the grasslands, where they could stand in a place left untouched for hundreds of years, and discuss something that might’ve left it all to pieces. “You make it sound like there will be a choice, in the end.” To piece together which side they’d stand for – perhaps – but not to be involved at all? With embittered heralds and mighty beacons, demigods assembling defenses, worlds solidified, fortified, for whatever was to come? Who was to say it would be worth it? With all the potential carnage? With all the ominous destruction? With all the impending heartbreak? Deimos had gone to war so many god damned times: for land, for protection, and for vengeance – but he’d never been wound or contorted into a herald’s chain of events. “I can only tell you what I experienced.” And then he glanced upwards, into the sky, watching birds flickering, flying overhead, before reliving the events in his head.
“The Voice had experimented long ago. Those machines became the monsters of LongNight, abandoned, only to roam during those weeks of darkness. Killing those who went outside. Trying to take Ascended parts from their brethren.” He eased a breath, ensured Noah would hear what the travesty was like. "They would tempt others to leave safety - pretend to be a friend, a family member." Committing murder after murder, rampage after rampage; and while it could be avoided, the main justification of it was bizarre anyway. The Naturals had accepted it as just one more necessity – when it shouldn’t have happened at all. “She once released a sickness called the blight. This was different from the latest,” and he tilted his head downward, remembering affliction after affliction. “Loved ones attacked their own. Turned feral. Bloodthirsty.” Kiada, assaulting him; and the Sword striving desperately not to do the same in return. “She never offered any cure, and I remain suspicious that she had her hand in the last too.”
Eyes flickered back to the hunter, and he wished he was done, but Noah had wanted to know. “There was also an incident with the Mathair in the Greatwood. Some Ascended, including Wessex, attacked the tree in attempts to make a portal. The Fae came to defend it, and they were killed.” Which would explain the Fae’s continued resentments. Were there multitudes of things he was missing? Perhaps – his mind flickered back and forth, conjuring the facets; for now, he’d grant the opportunity to digest what he’d said initially.
But thereafter came the veracity, and he couldn’t help but puncture a hollowed laugh throughout; it ricocheted and volleyed back along the grasslands, where they could stand in a place left untouched for hundreds of years, and discuss something that might’ve left it all to pieces. “You make it sound like there will be a choice, in the end.” To piece together which side they’d stand for – perhaps – but not to be involved at all? With embittered heralds and mighty beacons, demigods assembling defenses, worlds solidified, fortified, for whatever was to come? Who was to say it would be worth it? With all the potential carnage? With all the ominous destruction? With all the impending heartbreak? Deimos had gone to war so many god damned times: for land, for protection, and for vengeance – but he’d never been wound or contorted into a herald’s chain of events. “I can only tell you what I experienced.” And then he glanced upwards, into the sky, watching birds flickering, flying overhead, before reliving the events in his head.
“The Voice had experimented long ago. Those machines became the monsters of LongNight, abandoned, only to roam during those weeks of darkness. Killing those who went outside. Trying to take Ascended parts from their brethren.” He eased a breath, ensured Noah would hear what the travesty was like. "They would tempt others to leave safety - pretend to be a friend, a family member." Committing murder after murder, rampage after rampage; and while it could be avoided, the main justification of it was bizarre anyway. The Naturals had accepted it as just one more necessity – when it shouldn’t have happened at all. “She once released a sickness called the blight. This was different from the latest,” and he tilted his head downward, remembering affliction after affliction. “Loved ones attacked their own. Turned feral. Bloodthirsty.” Kiada, assaulting him; and the Sword striving desperately not to do the same in return. “She never offered any cure, and I remain suspicious that she had her hand in the last too.”
Eyes flickered back to the hunter, and he wished he was done, but Noah had wanted to know. “There was also an incident with the Mathair in the Greatwood. Some Ascended, including Wessex, attacked the tree in attempts to make a portal. The Fae came to defend it, and they were killed.” Which would explain the Fae’s continued resentments. Were there multitudes of things he was missing? Perhaps – his mind flickered back and forth, conjuring the facets; for now, he’d grant the opportunity to digest what he’d said initially.
DEIMOS
