[SE] ghosts of the fallen

and the only solution was to stand and fight

He permitted another smile, let it slip amidst the crags and cracks of stoicism. Though it faltered slightly as her stories changed into serious tones, and all the things he’d ever been apprehensive about when it came to growing his and Evie’s family rooted right there, unfurling into the open.

That Caido wasn’t safe. That they’d brought Erebos into a world that couldn’t ever find repose for more than a season or two. That sometimes, in the middle of the evenings, his residual nightmares would churn over to those who he sought to protect each and every day, haunting, looming, blood spilled – too ineffectual, too weak.

He flinched a little, hid it in the turn of his head, in the way his eyes flickered back down to the ground, in the sudden and nearly imperceptible clench of his jaw. “My wife is from the Grounds,” the Sword murmured, as if this was the sole reason, but there was more tucked into it. “And did not think we should let the rotten parts win.” For, had they done so in the Hollowed sanction, in those hundreds of years behind the barrier, there would’ve been nothing at all. He just didn’t like relying on hope. “But it was a difficult decision,” and Deimos shrugged his shoulders, as if to cast it away; already gone and done, wondering if her words were simply building a deeper wound than the one he’d already carved out for himself.

So that was why he strived, constantly, eternally, to ensure Halo, and his family, were safe. Theea’s final statement though caused a very long, deep, and slow breath, miring away the worst of it all surfacing against his throat. What if it’s not enough? hovered there, sullen and somber. “Thank you,” he rumbled instead, long strides sweeping and on the move again. “I am certainly going to try – but I think that goes for most of us.”

DEIMOS

the darkness falls around me at night

"Oh—" I start, frowning at myself as his smile slips and something subtle shifts in his posture. It's nothing big. Just the turn of his head, the way his jaw tightens. But I’ve seen that kind of quiet recoil before, most often in my father. It’s enough to make my stomach twist.

"I didn’t mean—" I exhale, brushing a hand through my hair, suddenly painfully aware of how things must’ve sounded. "I wasn’t saying it was a bad decision. Just the opposite, actually. I think it was a good one. A brave one."

I glance over at him, a little more cautious now, trying not to trample the moment any further. "I get why people don’t. Why they’re afraid. But I don’t think that’s a reason not to try. I don’t believe in letting the rotten parts win either."

My voice softens, losing its usual edge. "I know this world’s awful sometimes. I’ve seen it. But I’ve also seen a lot of things worth fighting for. A lot of people who make it worth it."

The wind picks up again, tugging at my hair, and I glance forward, letting silence sit for a beat before I murmur, "Sorry. I say things without thinking sometimes. You probably noticed." I try to offer a smile, smaller this time. A little less sure of itself.

Theea

and covers me in silence so bright

and the only solution was to stand and fight

There was always a fine line between bravery, and stupidity, and while Deimos had twisted and turned, agonized, over the complexities of bringing Erebos, and any future children, into the world, some days he wondered if they’d breached into the latter. He didn’t regret his son, nor his presence, his burst of enthusiasm, the delight he brought to everyone, but gods didn’t he often wonder if Caido was simply too much. Too dangerous. Too tragic. How many times had he almost been felled? And numerous others, before they’d become stronger? Or those that had perished, and not been granted another opportunity, another chance?

Those agonizing thoughts lingered, fresh and raw and real all over again, no matter the apologies and exhales. The steely edge of his own age-old lacerations caught on taut fringes, and he swallowed down a trace of bile. “I know you did not mean anything by it. It just resurfaced many thoughts we had before he arrived.” His smile was small and shallow too, like it was simply on for pretense and show; he’d have to dig himself out the trenches later, when the melancholy, panic, and apprehension had worn away.

Into something better and brighter – that all their efforts were worth it, in the end. “And that is why we keep forging on.” Exhausting as it might’ve been – for their present selves, and any future arrangements.

DEIMOS

the darkness falls around me at night

I watch the way his smile falters—thin and practiced, more habit than ease—and I feel the shift beneath it. The weight pressing down. The way his voice wraps around the past like it never quite left.

I’ve seen it before. That kind of grief that doesn’t scream, doesn’t sob—just stays. Heavy and constant and stitched into the quiet moments between sentences.

"You carry it well," I say, softly. "Not like it doesn’t weigh anything. But like you’ve learned how to move with it. Like a part of you grew around it."

My parents never quite managed that. My mother would say they’d “made peace,” but it wasn’t peace—it was a kind of silence. A hibernation of pain. There were days she wouldn’t speak at all. Days my dad would stare too long at nothing, like ghosts were standing just behind his shoulder.

They didn’t always know how to take things as they came. They were always bracing for the next blow. Maybe that’s why they tried to keep me so far from everything. So I wouldn’t have to grow around anything—so I’d never be broken in the first place.

I glance away, toward the trees. There’s a phantom ache where the antler struck me, and suddenly it feels like a harbinger. Like the beginning of a long, slow list. What else is coming? The question curls cold and deep along my spine.

This path I chose—it’s barely started. And already there’s blood in the snow and fear in my chest. I don’t know what’s coming for me next. And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wondered, more than once, if I should’ve just stayed. If leaving my mother was a mistake. If the dangers ahead will make this wound feel like a skinned knee in comparison.

But I look at Deimos.

At the scars he carries. The way he moves through the cold like it’s nothing. How easily he pulled those luxere apart—not cruelly, not carelessly, just… precisely. With the kind of skill that’s only earned. His face is sharp and weathered, and I’d be a fool to think he started that way. Ronin didn’t. Remi didn’t.

I wonder what it cost him.

But then I remember what he said. His son. His partner. The warmth he’s built inside this frozen place. The people he’s willing to fight for. Protect. The things he’s still trying to keep safe. And I remind myself: those things exist. Even after everything. Even after the worst has happened.

"I think I’m only just starting to understand what it really means to fight for something," I murmur, half to him, half to the wind. "And I hope I can hold on to that like you do, when it gets worse."

Theea

and covers me in silence so bright

and the only solution was to stand and fight

He didn’t know what to say to that. Carrying either his grief or melancholy well – because it’d been carved right into the mettle and fiber of his bones for as long as he could remember. Death was an old friend, almost reliable, when it came to his friends, his family, everything loved and cherished. So, in a long breath, he shrugged, gaze downward again. “I did not have much of a choice.” It was either learn from the errors, the brutality, grow stronger, mightier, someone who could decimate and retaliate, protect and shield – or fall apart at the seams. Gods knew how many times he’d withered away and yearned to become stone or rock or rubble, to be left alone in his own devices and sorrow until there was nothing.

Eternally tempting; and no longer an option.

There’d been others by his side, whittling their way in until he remembered what it meant to have people and places and bonds that weren’t broken or severed. It gave him fortitude and might and purpose beyond the unfurling of every day – even if the frustrations wore and the mantle grew heavier and heavier.

And he wouldn’t lie – sometimes the things borne upon his shoulders ached and tore, but he wasn’t going to pass them off to anyone else either. “It comes down to what, or who, you want to fight for.” One’s self. Friends. Companions. Allies. Lovers. Land and worlds. “But right now is not an easy precipice to stand upon.” Starfall loomed as a multitude of threads, barreling and closing in on them. At least the war had been an understandable measure; give and take. This was just parasitic, invasive, and toxic.

DEIMOS

the darkness falls around me at night

I nod—not in some naive, hollow agreement, but because that part, at least, I understand.

Not the pain. I couldn’t begin to pretend I understand what Deimos has endured. I see it in the way he carries himself—in the way he doesn’t flinch at blood or flame or weight, even when it drags at the corners of his expression. That kind of strength, the kind carved out of ruin and rebuilt again and again, that’s not something I’ve lived. Not yet.

But I understand the choice. Who you fight for.

I want to fight for my mom, for my dad. And for the family I've only just barely met. For the people I’ve found along the way who didn’t owe me anything but gave me kindness anyway—Niki and Elizabeth come to mind. For myself, even. Though sometimes that one’s harder to justify.

The wind cuts through the trees, brushing snow across the trampled ground, and I watch it for a second before I speak again.

"I want to help with things like the… the gardening one day." I lift an eyebrow slightly at him—dry humor tucked in the corner of the phrase. "And the infectious nightmare is that’s creeping over everything, you know? I want to help."

I shift my weight, flexing the arm that had been healed from the luxere’s antler.

"But right now, I can barely hold my ground against a corrupted deer." I let out a breath, not self-pitying, just honest. "I know that strength isn’t everything. But I don’t want to be a step behind forever. I don’t want to be the one someone else always has to protect. I want to be someone people can trust to stand with them. Not behind them."

Theea

and covers me in silence so bright

and the only solution was to stand and fight

There’d been an interval where Deimos didn’t have anything to fight for. When all the defenses and bulwarks and fortresses hadn’t mattered, towers collapsing, pillars falling, a litany of excuses and terror to blame. Only over a matter of years, and people, had he managed to curate what it meant to have and hold. Loss was one of those inevitable things, sunken deep into his bones and names scrawled across the enamel, but he was s sturdier citadel now, with bastions coiled and collected and infused into that blackened, scarred heart.

Except nowadays, there were many like Theea, wanting, yearning, craving to help, but the seething torrent of everything colliding was simply too strong. He couldn’t, not in his good conscience, tell them all to dash off into the wilderness, to free the unclaimed regions of the pestilence. Or to fling themselves amidst Starfall, where so many of them were having issues. “You probably already realize this, but there will always be something.” At which he grinned, a little more juvenile, trying to crawl out of the doldrums and back onto stable grounds. She’d likely heard a litany of her parents’ stories – of the monsters, of the wars, of plights and minimal repose. “So even if you are not ready to tackle all the gardening aspects,” arching his brow, “Which have been difficult for us,” as another hint to not aim too high presently, “That does not mean you will not be ready for other things in the future. Nor always behind everyone. It takes time.”

He took another long deep breath, feeling Zuriel hovering over his shoulder, the eagle-eyed mare casting glances. “There are different kinds of strength, and currently, we need the ones who are endlessly determined.” Whether or not that would be her, given the latest speech, notions would tell down the road. Low risk, high reward. “Would you be willing to keep searching for flowers, while you gain in experience?”

DEIMOS

the darkness falls around me at night

I listen without interrupting, and give him a wry smile of agreement. There’s something in his voice—not heavy, with that grin of his, but shaped by years I haven’t lived yet. Like stone worn smooth by storm after weathering wind and storms, still standing.

He’s right. There will always be something.

For people like him. For people like my uncles. For my cousins. For people who step forward so others don’t have to. Maybe that’s what being one of them really is—taking on the endless so someone else can have a moment that feels quiet. Safe. Ordinary.

I had those quiet, safe moments growing up. It’s people like Deimos that fought and sacrificed so that I could. I will repay that debt them all one day.

I swallow, eyes dropping to the snow. Even they are struggling with the gardening. The ones with magic and mastery and titles. If they’re still clawing their way forward, then I have a long road ahead of me. And that’s fine. I didn’t come here looking for shortcuts.

I glance back up at him when he finishes. He seems steadier now, something lighter woven into his words. Less burden, more purpose.

”Yeah,” I say quietly at first. Then firmer. ”I’d be glad to keep looking. I found that one already with Elizabeth—it made me feel like maybe I could do more than just stay out of the way. Like I belonged in the fight, even if I’m not swinging swords yet.”

I kick gently at the snow near my boot, watching a few flakes scatter.

”I’ve got an acquaintance to visit in the Greatwood anyway. I could bring him along, maybe.” I offer a small smile. ”He’s a lot better with the place than I am, so between us we might actually convince a few flowers to show themselves.”

Theea

and covers me in silence so bright

and the only solution was to stand and fight

The Sword, no matter which incarnation, had always been at the helm of shelter and sanctity, a security for those in his tight-knit circles, in his regions, in his kingdoms. Losing so many throughout his lives had meant he aimed that much more to ensure it didn’t happen again, or at least, bought more time by putting himself in harm’s way, as a wall, as a shield, as a fortress so others didn’t have to fall apart at the seams. Because while he might not have mattered, so many did – and those sacrificial means had meant multitudes still lived. He couldn’t save them all, and that had been many a difficult lesson, but Deimos could strive forward – now with Halo, with gardening, with striking against the Family, so that Caido had a chance once more. So those, like his own son, might have a brighter future.

And there’d be many, like Theea, who wanted to do the same. She didn’t need coaxing, but guidance as to which path might be more beneficial. In his notions, there were many, and while not all intertwined, each could be for the greater good, enriching her own livelihood and fortitude, and combining into strength, might, and resilience. “You can still swing swords,” he mentioned, wrinkling his nose in amusement, and an age-old encouragement of any sharpened and handy blades. “But probably not at certain targets just yet.”

It seemed she’d concocted plans, and he tilted his head, nodding at the insinuations. “That could work. You already know what you are looking for. There is Frey’s Breath as well, if you prefer hot springs.” Taking a deeper breath, his gaze roamed from branches and boughs to the greater area around them, before swinging back to her. “And thank you, for being willing to take some of it on.”

DEIMOS

the darkness falls around me at night

I nod, grinning when he says I can still swing swords. “Not at certain targets,” I echo with mock solemnity, a flick of dry humor under the words.

The smile he gives then—nose crinkled, easy and amused—makes me wanna make him smile more often. Not because I would know if it’s rare (though maybe it is), but because of what it does to his face. Just for a breath, the years and the weight and the cold fall away, and I can almost see the person he must’ve been, before this world and the one he was from taught him to be a fortress.

I don’t say anything. Gods forbid I point it out and make him stop smiling altogether. I just tuck the image away, quiet, like something worth keeping.

When he mentions Frey’s Breath, I blink in surprise and then laugh. “I haven’t been there since I was about ten,” I say, and catch myself before I correct it. Ten. That was only four years ago now. Not nine. Not really. My hands flex at my sides, as if memory had a weight to shake off. I’m still getting used to it—this stretch of time Frey gifted me, as though growing up faster would make the world easier to face.

It doesn’t. But it does make me more determined to catch up.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I say, with a fogged laugh. “I’ve still got work to do before I’ve earned anyone’s gratitude.”

And then I look at him—really look at him. The scarring, the wear, the steadiness in his frame. How easily he could’ve written me off, sent me back to warm fires and safe roads. But he didn’t.

“Thank you,” I add, honest and unflinching. “For not just outright dismissing me and letting me try. I promise I’ll keep doing that. Even if it takes me a while to stop losing my daggers.”

The wind shifts again, and I breathe it in—cold and sharp and alive… and smelling like burning fur and skin. Gross.

Smoke curls through the cold, thin and unhurried, disappearing into the treetops. Somewhere behind us, the snow is already beginning to cover the tracks we made, as if the land is indifferent to what passed through. Ahead, the woods stretch wide and silent. No clear road. No signs telling me I’m ready.

But I move forward anyway.

FIN

Theea

and covers me in silence so bright