DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
He couldn’t deny the relief when she didn’t press harder into his responses, and instead began a torrent of self-reflecting, inward notions. It gave him time to replace his guards, build the ramparts back, incline them upward until her sentiments and ruminations came through. And to learn her response had been one of trauma, rather than the irate, loathing, contemptuous wiles rendered him back into silence – because he rarely spoke of his own, and she’d stepped out on a limb.
Of fathers gone and burnt away. Of things replicated, repeating, vicious, vicious cycles they’d already been through once, twice, hundreds of times before. It has a way of biting back. Of finding those weakened moments, and contorting, rippling through any veneers, any pretenses, finding them at their base, at their core, and unraveling from there.
He stared very carefully over the mist once more, following plumes of the fog as it swirled before his eyes and drifted downward, into the vestiges and haze. I do not have any good answers for you. For he’d never been afraid of who or what he was – owned it with every fiber of his being, used it for the greater good, or to unfurl, unleash, havoc and vengeance where he thought it was deserved, warranted. But control over your thoughts and emotions is always a consideration. That had been cultivated in the depths of his instruction as a young boy, from war and heartache, from watching comrades fall to pieces upon battlefields, one by one by one. From protecting his makeshift family. From trying, so damn hard, not to be carried away by devastation and ruin.
The Sword eventually faced her again, piercing eyes pinpointing directly into her gaze, attempting to summon something, anything, to counteract the wicked balances in their lives. That is something you can practice in training. It will not be a predictor for everything, but it can clue you in on how you would react.
Of fathers gone and burnt away. Of things replicated, repeating, vicious, vicious cycles they’d already been through once, twice, hundreds of times before. It has a way of biting back. Of finding those weakened moments, and contorting, rippling through any veneers, any pretenses, finding them at their base, at their core, and unraveling from there.
He stared very carefully over the mist once more, following plumes of the fog as it swirled before his eyes and drifted downward, into the vestiges and haze. I do not have any good answers for you. For he’d never been afraid of who or what he was – owned it with every fiber of his being, used it for the greater good, or to unfurl, unleash, havoc and vengeance where he thought it was deserved, warranted. But control over your thoughts and emotions is always a consideration. That had been cultivated in the depths of his instruction as a young boy, from war and heartache, from watching comrades fall to pieces upon battlefields, one by one by one. From protecting his makeshift family. From trying, so damn hard, not to be carried away by devastation and ruin.
The Sword eventually faced her again, piercing eyes pinpointing directly into her gaze, attempting to summon something, anything, to counteract the wicked balances in their lives. That is something you can practice in training. It will not be a predictor for everything, but it can clue you in on how you would react.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
