light the fuse

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame They’d failed. It wouldn’t be the first, nor the last – he’d frequently looked defeat and collapse in the face. Once, he might’ve sunk right into the dungeons and bled himself over the catacombs. Once, he might’ve ground his teeth, clenched his jaw, and wished for someone to suffer for the wrath inflicted upon him, his notions, and his beliefs. But in the present, it anointed him with purpose. While the gods consecrated others, while the deities implored upon those worthy, the Reaper and Rexanna embarked on goals, on motivations, on information gathering – firmly stuck and caught in the middle, at a standstill, feet on either side. He rarely reveled in purgatory – he preferred omens and ultimatums, disaster and the truth, perils and claws, battlefields and scars, hell and its obvious consignments. His irreverence painted them neither illustrious or notable – but his determination, the facets and invocations carving their way up his bones, through his flesh and sinew and veins, would earn them something. It could be hatred. It could be indifference. It could be nothing at all, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. It was Deimos’ turn to lead the way, though he was just as uncertain along the threshold of the Loreseeker’s Guild as he had been within the temple’s grasp. At least here they had half a chance: he didn’t expect scholars, no matter their eternal making, to turn them away from knowledge and wisdom. The Atheneum was familiar, comfortable, despite perilous ruins and obvious signs of disrepair. It held a soul, sagacity, and the beast could appreciate its sentiments. Silently, because his stride was swift and Rexanna understood he wasn’t one for idle chit-chat, he followed the lines of bookstacks and shelving towards a metallic door; embossed and embedded with page sigils. He opened it, holding the aperture long enough for Rexanna to step within, then wandering side by side, descending into the hall. Mirrors, scrolls, and endless information wafted their way towards them. He inhaled, slow, steady, methodical and calm, suddenly embedded with control and composure again, pushing the vehemence, the frustration, the belligerence away from his being. “Hello,” his deep voice uttered, rang off the walls, and he glanced at Rexanna, arching a brow, before proceeding. “We have come seeking information regarding the barrier.” Would that be enough to summon someone from the depths? Would that be enough to solidify decisions, embark on further crusades? Or would they be stuck again, deep in the muck and the mire? master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

For Rexanna Amalia Maea <333