how they armor themselves for you

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The storm outside beckoned and he maintained his composure, waiting for something else to fall, to be picked away, to be quartered off and segmented. Her disappointment was a tangible thing, and though he didn’t relish being the one who’d, once again, conjured it, the understandings and implications were there. It wasn’t an offer he’d taken for granted, but knowing full well it wasn’t his place. “I am honored that I was considered enough by you.” Because it was the truth, veracity wrapped up in a place not behind his teeth, or muffled away, but in the depths of his bowed head, in the fortitude of might. He’d carve his own wake too; even if the world couldn’t be laid at his feet. In between the hurt decibels, and the notions of devotion, he hadn’t believed he’d receive anything else. But his gaze segmented back to the stone, taking this offering; the thunder amplified in his heart, in his lungs, plucking at his vision until he saw lightning flash – an accord of something else tugging into his void. “Thank you. And I only did well due to your direction and clemency.” The howling echoed in his ears, persisted through his lungs, and he lifted his eyes back to her. “Is there anything more Halo needs to do for the Old Gods?” In between shrines and portals, in between the masses of defenses, and incoming storms – his munitions might not be the same as a deity’s. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace