[o] the storm knelt first

Noah

From the greenhouse to the shrine, Noah walked with griffins wings gently draping over him. Vi'dore walked at his side, the sound of frost crunching beneath his massive cloven hooves. Their breathing matched, twin puffs escaping their nostrils and into the open air. Despite the season, and even with the weather dome covering the Citadel, it was still a brisk frigid day.

Noah stepped into the Citadel’s shrine with slow reverence, his companion waiting some yards away. He carried three offerings wrapped in linen: a sprig of golden bloom for Vi, still warm from the greenhouse; a bundle of herbs for Rae, and a pale, smooth river-stone for Mort, worn down by time and water. He placed each with care at the altar, bowing his head. The silence felt full. Not empty. Not alone. Just watched, perhaps—and, for now, that was enough.

are you out there on the front lines
or at home keeping score?

DEIMOS

ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood

He’d stood in his office for quite some time, staring at the hearth, waiting for the multitudes to calm down in the wake of the meeting. Deep breaths in, out, exhale, inhale, long plumes that hadn’t done him much good. Ordinarily, his long strides would’ve carried him to Evie and Erebos and Amhran, but they were safely ensconced at home, working as well, and the great lurch in his ribcage told him not to disturb them. Not now.

So it was an inevitable thing, to begin taking a turn of patrol along the Citadel, to foster long strides across the place he’d long since promised to protect and shield, swallowing down the bile clustering over his throat. The walk chiseled and bristled at him with every lull and quell of the cold, and he wished it might’ve bit harder so that the guilt didn’t chisel so firmly into his chest and the threats didn’t yield and stick themselves into his mind.

People might’ve said something to him, but his mind was so addled with distraction that responses would’ve been nods at best. He kept onward, stifled and silent, looking for dangers and perils in every stone and flake, until he’d somehow managed to wander near the shrine.

Noah’s presence there made his brows furrow, but only for a moment, his gaze segmenting elsewhere, drifting across the marketplace, the cobblestones, the pathways lined with snow, the trepidation lining his chest. Noah, he rumbled, not wanting to seek him out and not having many other options. Then he just kept going, precise, concise, head down, stifling every semblance of panic beginning to coerce again. I just had a visit from the Head of the Family.

watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same

Noah

Noah didn’t startle, though the sound of Deimos’ voice cut through the shrine’s hush like a blade. He remained kneeling a moment longer, hand resting on the smooth river stone he'd placed for Mort, before rising. Snow had gathered on his shoulders and wings during his prayer and he gently flexed his wings to remove it. What followed his name, however, had the demigod's stomach lurching and twisting and his heart already threatening to pound against his chest. 

What happened? he asked quietly, voice edged with gravel even across the attuned bond. He felt heat rise up his neck and to his ears. His glacier gaze held steady on the general, knowing—too knowing. The kind of look shared between those who bore too much, too often. The kind of look shared between men who had fought shoulder to shoulder in war, and were about to again.

The hunter took in a sharp breath, held it for only a moment, and let it out slowly as he turned to walk with his warden.

Whatever the Family had said, whatever threat they carried, Noah knew Deimos would meet it the only way he knew how: with the cold steadiness of the tundra, with every stone and oath he still had left to give. But now, again, forged in oath once more, Noah wouldn't let him do it alone.

are you out there on the front lines
or at home keeping score?

DEIMOS

ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood

He looked elsewhere, beyond, upon roads and pathways as if they might disappear under his feet at any moment. He knew better, they were working on ensuring such things didn’t happen right then and there, but the threat had closed over him like a vice, no matter the cold, unyielding calculations he’d wielded seemingly moments before.

Maybe he was carrying too much. Maybe he wasn’t enough. Maybe the apprehension finally cracked a few ribs and didn’t care where he scattered.

Noah’s quite voice lent more patience than Deimos could afford, and his jaw clenched, fighting hordes of inner demons and self-doubt and that overbearing need to be a rampart, a gods damned wall, all the time. He gave me a proposal: complete safety for Halo, if I no longer interfered with the Family. And perhaps the Forsaken would understand the decision, or not respect it. The Sword’s own trepidations, and Dorian’s final words cut and slashed inwardly, as if the man could see every scar and unhealed laceration. I declined. Then he kept going, an explanation, a deterrent. We already have plans in place for the Citadel. And if I just stop- he ceased there, brows furrowing again, gaze back down to the ground.

watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same

Noah

Noah didn’t interrupt. He let the words fall, each one like the slow crack of ice spreading underfoot. Only when silence settled across the bond did he respond with a simple Gods.

It wasn’t praise. It wasn’t relief. He didn't know what it was, except another prayer as they stepped away from the shrine. His jaw worked, something sharp in his gaze now—fury, banked like coals. It took everything in him to keep himself poised so that his passive magic didn't burn across his body and alert the townsfolk of the situation being worked out between the warden and the demigod.

He looked out, too, where snow curled across the stones and the Citadel’s walls stood like ribs around a fragile heart. They think fear is enough. That you’ll trade Halo for everyone, everything, else. They were threatening families. Because Noah understood this to be a threat in its purest form, not a true offering of peace and safety. Noah had never met the head of the family, but what he knew of the others -- the confidence was a rod in his spine, ice cold and unyielding: what happened was a threat.

The Family didn't know what they'd lost. What they'd built back with their own hands after the demise of the Voice. Halo was working again to keep themselves from living in such casualties as they had in the last war. Soon they would return to Safrin and she would grant the safety of their home, truly, from the Family. Vi'dore picked up a trot to catch up to the men, slowing at Noah's side. He reached out for his warm neck instinctively, Do we strike?

are you out there on the front lines
or at home keeping score?

DEIMOS

ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood

He couldn’t help those pangs of regret and lures. What if he had? What if he’d simply permitted it – for Halo to be free and liberated and away from the strings of the Family? Would it have lasted? Would it have been true? Or would he have traded away his own fortitude and might for something empty? And who is to say they would have kept up their end of the bargain. But still, it sharpened and harpooned, restlessly toyed with his predilections. I did not want to make Halo its own prison. A barrier within; trapped and ensnared amidst the snow.

The Sword finally took another long breath, watching it filter outwards into warm plumes, fighting the urgency to stalk his way home. His eyes watched the unicorn come towards Noah, not his own, for Zuriel remained under his roof, warring away his own frustrations at the inquiry. I had hoped that Remi and Ronin would be able to subdue Dahlia. That would round out a team. Time was precious and fleeting though, and they kept standing on precipices. I already sent them a flower, and Hadama the other. So at least if the Family came seeking those out, they wouldn’t find them in Halo.

watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same

Noah

Noah didn’t speak at first. His fingers curled into Vi'dore's thick fur, the warmth beneath his palm grounding him—though it did little to lift the weight pressing against his chest.

Deimos hadn’t made Halo a prison. Noah knew that, and he’d thought it more than once. The Citadel had always been a haven under his rule, not a cage. A wall only trapped people when no one stood at the gate—and Deimos had never stopped standing watch. But saying so wouldn’t ease the tightness in the other man’s chest, wouldn’t silence the doubts clawing at him from the inside. Noah understood that, too.

For Noah, the Family’s offer had been poison dressed as mercy. He could feel it in his bones. They would never have kept their word. They’d have waited for Halo to go soft, for its people to grow comfortable—and then they would have moved in, quiet and cold and certain. Or worse: they’d have turned it into a pen, drawing in the rest of the world’s frightened until the slaughter could begin like a corral of lambs. Without Deimos, the gods’ protection would never have taken root to protect the Citadel from the family on Halo's terms.

Okay. he sighed over the bond, his thoughts already shifting toward next steps. They should know about this. It might make them move faster.

Because now, even more than before, it wasn’t just Ronin and Remi's people on the line.

It was their families--Halo's innocent.

are you out there on the front lines
or at home keeping score?

DEIMOS

ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood

The pressures and balancing act must’ve been getting to him; he could feel that heavy, foreboding, looming abyss smothering and swallowing, encompassing the notions throughout his mind. Cold, decisive measures in the moment, and bleak fixtures thereafter, where the queries lingered far longer than they needed to. Always wondering if he could’ve been better. If he could’ve done more. But the truth of the matter pierced through that slate, clawed amidst the clouded and murky fixtures. They were already closing in on the Citadel’s armor. All that was left was the Tundra – and that too, in time, might be something they could secure. But the people had come first. They had for eternities, even behind the scarred and blackened part of his soul.

His eyes went towards the shrine, his gaze brooding, stewing, before they flickered briefly to Noah, then down to the stones beneath their feet again – tracing over foundations and steps made by passersby. I know. I just – needed a moment. Of clarity and pursuit, of figuring out if he’d done the right thing, of removing all the tension and trepidation from his veins. If I give you a picture of Dorian, can you warn those you come across? Not Friends of the Family – he couldn’t be bothered with them for the moment, but those innocent and still fighting.

watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same

Noah

He watched Deimos trace the worn stones beneath their feet, felt the weight of everything unspoken pressing in around them: the Citadel, the Tundra, the people they were trying to protect. The ache of trying to do right when the scale kept tilting toward ruin. He let his hand run down the unicorn's neck.

Of course, he said at last, voice low but certain. I’ll make sure they know what he looks like. Who to watch for.

There was only understanding in his tone. The kind carved from shared years and shared burdens. Noah knew what it meant to question every choice long after it was made, to carry it until it rubbed raw. You did the right thing. A beat. Maybe not the easy one. But the right one.

The hunter shifted his stance, Before you go, Deimos, Noah paused his step mid stride beside the warden, Right before I got here I was with Alys in the Greatwood. She told me of a vision she had. She's been having visions of Starfall. She told me there is a massive, tentacled creature. She heard dripping water. She emphasized how big the creature she saw was, and how it had a lot of tentacles.

are you out there on the front lines
or at home keeping score?

DEIMOS

ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood

At the agreement, Deimos nodded, already beginning to unleash the magic stored in his veins. That grounded him too, the ease, the quickness, the swift nature of the creation incantations between his palms as they began to clarify and detail the image of the head of the Family. His lungs filled with more air and he passed it over to Noah. I am not going to place anything on our notice board until we have finished the regional quest. I do not want to incite more reason for him, or any of them, to come and antagonize. Until he simply couldn’t any longer. But word of mouth, pictures passed between, would be enough for their inner circles, their citizens, their friends.

He didn’t expect the following statement, glancing away from Noah and back upon the Citadel at large – with its shelters, its homes, its snow-burdened streets, its hardy people. Whether or not he did the right thing might come to pass in the upcoming weeks and seasons. Thank you. Halo cannot be under the Family’s thumb. Of false promises, of burdened, foreboding casualties, of the knowing, eventually, they too would be swallowed and consumed and devoured, and had no other means to avoid the price.

His head tilted again, back towards the demigod, at the next turn of phrase, brow arching. He’d actually heard the statement from Alys already – but at least the visions were still passing through, even if he wasn’t certain what else to do with them. She told me. And with still needing to face the wyrm… he didn’t finish the notion, but simply sighed in its place. Hopefully Remi and Ronin can be successful, and will want to join us again.

watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same

Noah

Noah took the image as it formed between Deimos’ palms, studying the rendered face with a quiet, practiced focus. He committed it to memory without comment, storing it like an arrow in the quiver—sharp, silent, ready. He pocketed the depiction. That’s smart, he said, nodding once. Keep it off the board for now. Let it move quiet. Our people talk fast when they need to.

He followed Deimos’ gaze across the Citadel, the frost-glazed roofs and smoke-threaded chimneys, the stubborn warmth of life in the cold. A place they’d bled for. A place they would again, if needed. He took in a deep breath, letting the cold bite at his lungs and throat.

At the mention of the wyrm, his jaw tightened, then eased. He hoped Remi and Ronin would be up for the tasks ahead, to join them in the fray. They might need Remi's size and strength more than before, with the description Alys gave. We’ll be ready for that too.

He shifted his weight, letting the silence settle naturally, without tension. The cold pressed in, but it felt cleaner now—bracing, not smothering. A pause. Then, "Go home, Deimos. Go hold your son. I’ll see you soon.”

FIN

are you out there on the front lines
or at home keeping score?