always game

and the only solution was to stand and fight

He lifted his face into the vibrant, chilling wind entangled through the Leafchange atmosphere; content with the cold, the might, the bite of it all. The trepidation that had filled in the bounty of his shoulders over the past years sauntered away in lieu of repose and everything else his region required; a liberation across multitudes in his mind. Without the Family pressing in, there was now time to commit to the everyday minutiae, the needs and wants of Halo and its citizens. Age-old purpose strewn along his strides, the notions scarcely mattered – they had a few weeks of the season left before the Tundra turned far more than inhospitable, leaving them with a limited timeframe of hunting and gathering.

With companions in tow, both unicorn and peryton, he made his way over to the Greenwing, pulling the sled behind him, figuring they’d end up filling the vessel with either timber or eventual food, if not all those particulars. A simple forward motion of his jaw sent the winged deer flying, scattering into the sky, on the lookout for any animals meandering below while the Sword and Zuriel threaded their way towards fallen logs.

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

The trail curves through a bed of frost-slick ferns, where the prints of a hare—fresh, light, quick—disappear into shadow. Damien crouches low, gloved fingers brushing the edge of the tracks. Still warm enough for the pads to leave definition. He shifts his weight slowly, listening to the hush of the forest and the faint, dry snap of branches under some distant step.

Not a rabbit, then. Something larger.

He straightens and moves on, careful as the snowmelt seeping down from the higher ridges. The Greenwing holds sound like a secret. Every motion echoes faintly beneath the trees, and the cold works its way through even the thickest coat if you let yourself sit still too long. Not that he minds. The silence is familiar. Honest.

He means to check the traps he’d already set earlier in the week (simple lines strung near one of the smaller streams) but the sound ahead pulls him off-course. Hooves. Sled runners. Something heavy threading through the undergrowth, deliberate and slow.

Damien pauses at the edge of a rise, dark eyes narrowing beneath his hood.

It isn’t a herd or a wild boar. He could see the peryton’s shadow skimming the treetops and the unmistakable gleam of a horn where a unicorn moved between the brush. A sled behind them. And ahead—Deimos. The Warden.

He exhales, not quite a sigh. Halo’s Sword in the forest. Not something you see every day.
Damien steps out from behind a pine as the group moves closer, slow and deliberate, palms empty and nonthreatening. No sudden movements. Just enough to be seen.

“Didn’t expect company in this part of the Greenwing,” he says, voice low, even.

He gives a nod of recognition. A fellow hunter, for the moment.

“I’ve got traps near the stream down that way,” he adds with a tilt of his head, "if you're scouting for fresh game. Snow's light enough the scent trails haven’t gone to rot yet."

He doesn’t explain what he's doing here because he doesn't think he needs to. Men like him move where the land requires. But if Deimos invites him to walk with them, Damien won't say no.

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Belial’s movements might’ve caught the attention of another, but the same could be said for the peryton. Enough information passed through from companion to man, so that when the other approached, Deimos glanced back at the other with little surprise. A cursory glance, a nod of recognition, of necessary woodsmen who scouted out amidst their snowy ranges, who snagged at supplies when and where they could for the good of their region. “Afternoon. Damien, yes?” he rumbled in greeting, ignoring Zuriel’s conceited shake of her head.

He pulled the sled further, then halted it near the tree line. “Figured I had the opportunity,” he motioned with a shrug; as lately it hadn’t been a frequent occurrence to stretch his limbs across the expanse of the Greenwing, enjoy his region for what it was. He’d been far too busy ensuring Caido remained. “Apologies if I have disturbed your hunt.” The unicorn gave an obvious roll to her eyes, but otherwise ignored, pawing at portions of weeds nearby. His glance went back towards the stream, eyes narrowing a fraction as if considering and calculating. “I have my peryton scouting, but thank you for the offer. Figured I would grab some wood to bring home, and then any game that cropped up.”

At which he noted several fallen logs nearby, striding forth to inspect and peel off the branches.

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

Damien adjusted the strap of his crossbow, letting the hood of his coat slip back as he inclined his head. “That’s right,” he confirmed, voice steady. “And no need to apologize. Animals aren’t running thick this way anyway.”

His gaze swept briefly over the sled, then the unicorn and the peryton’s shadow against the treetops. “Looks like you’ve got enough hands and hooves for the job.” The faintest trace of dry humor ghosted his voice, but it was gone quickly, replaced by a thoughtful narrowing of his eyes at the fallen logs.

“Still,” he added, stepping closer and crouching near one of the larger trunks, gloved fingers brushing away a crust of snow to inspect the grain. “Some of these’ll need cutting to haul clean. Two pairs of hands will make that faster.” He glanced up at Deimos. “If you want the help, I’ve got the time.”

There was no push in the offer, no neediness. Just quiet pragmatism. His focus returned to the wood, but his words carried easily enough through the cold.

“The weather pattern's shifting this year. Snow came early, and it'll last. You planning to use this timber for something in particular, or just stocking the stores?”

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Despite his innate reserve, reticent, and tendency to lurk more in the shadows than out in the open, once he’d taken on a leadership role, Deimos had made it a pointed effort to know the mass of citizens residing in Halo. Some changed. Some moved. Some met their demise. Some aggravated. Some helped. Some lived and thrived. But it was a standing fixture to understand the broad scope of the wintry world’s inhabitants; so when he was proven correct on the name of the woodsman, he breathed a brief sigh of relief, accompanied by the vague set of a small smile.

At indication of her, Zuriel raised her neck, appearing taller and far more regal, or aloof and indifferent. Ignoring her, his head tilted, surveying the current log in question. “If you want.” Implementing his broad scope of control and command over the incantations within his entity, he summoned the earthen enchantments, motioning through without any movement of his own – and slicing through a huge portion of the tree. When he thought it was sufficient to haul into the sled, he picked it up, content in using all those muscles, and placed it within the vessel, before maneuvering to the next.

He didn’t expect conversation to fill the silence, but he kept the inward laugh to himself. “I like to ensure our citizens have enough stored before Deepfrost. This will be shared.” Once he returned it to Halo, he’d stack and haul again, leaving portions on the front doors and deck spaces for those who needed it.

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

Damien’s gaze flicked briefly to Zuriel as she raised her neck, her regal posture and aloof expression marking her as no ordinary companion. He kept his distance, noting the subtle tension in her movements; an unspoken warning wrapped in grace. Loyal to Deimos, she was clearly unimpressed by strangers, and Damien filed the observation away with quiet caution, treating her more as a presence to respect than a creature to engage.

He stepped back, watching as the magic flared, the tree splintering cleanly at the Warden’s will. His expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of calculation crossed his eyes, reminded that some problems yield to a single, deft gesture.

“Efficient,” he said finally, tone neutral. He bent to drag one of the severed sections clear, hauling it with a practiced ease and laying it alongside the sled. “Better than wrestling with a saw all day.”

He adjusted his gloves, straightening. “That’ll go a long way,” he remarked as Deimos spoke of sharing the wood, his gaze steady. “Halo’s winter doesn’t take kindly to the unprepared.”

“I’ll help you load the rest,” he added, glancing toward the sled. “And I can keep a closer eye on the notice board. If you ever need more hands for this kind of work, I'll answer.”

After helping for some time, an out-of-the-ordinary movement caught Damien's eye. His eyes shifted to the deeper woods, catching the faint golden glow of antlers barely visible between the trees. A small, distant cluster of luxere moved beneath the boughs, their glow dimmed by distance but unmistakable. Damien’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his usual reserve.

“Luxere out there, near the ridge," he nodded in the direction. His gaze flicked to Deimos for a moment- measuring, curious if the Warden was inclined to hunt the creatures.

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Damien shouldn’t be too offended, Zuriel didn’t like many to begin with – believing herself to be far grander, superior, and wiser than the masses – and having gone through multitudes alongside the Sword (especially in healing regards), she stood nearby, ears twitching back and forth as wood was felled and carted. Placing another portion of the timber within the sled, he snorted. “I have noticed – but Halo is not very kind to most.” To live in this world, individuals had to be tough, stalwart, steady, and not foolish; for as much as they’d built up their community of strong, enduring people, the unnecessary risks still got some in the end. “Thank you.”

Once they’d hauled the provisions into the vessel, there was another appearance amidst the rush and brush. His eyes went towards the juncture of movement, briefly annoyed Belial hadn’t bothered to alert (but then again, the peryton was easily distracted and drifting along the other side of the Greenwing). But when it appeared to be a luxere, he smiled; a softening of his features into some boyish decree, rather than the usual stoic, hardened portions.

Perhaps it would surprise Damien, but the Sword had no intention of hunting the creature. Instead, he opened his palm, unfurling an apple within from his Earth magic, and then threw it near the creature, waiting to see if it would take the fruit. “They used to protect us in the Hollowed Grounds, during LongNight,” hence his innate fondness; the glowing antlers and kindness something to let remain, rather than desecrate.

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

Damien had noticed the shift before the creatures came into view; the soft hush in the trees, the way the wind curved different through the pines. And then one stepped through the snowlight, pale and surefooted, its antlers a shimmer against the ridge. His posture didn’t change, but his gaze followed it with a flicker of something quieter than surprise. They weren’t rare, but they didn’t always come this close to noise and company either.  A sign, to be sure, perhaps of hope or luck. Or maybe just an echo of a different time, to others.

Deimos lifted a hand and conjured the apple. No spell words. No flourish. Just a quiet offering flung with an archer’s ease. Damien stilled, watching the fruit land with a muffled thud and roll slightly toward the animal. The luxere's ears twitched. It stepped forward.

Not a hunt, then.

His gaze returned to Deimos—not sharp, but thoughtful. The man’s face, usually cut from stone, had softened, just for a second. Something unguarded had risen to the surface, and Damien marked it. Not with judgment. Just... interest.

“Don't let the hunters know you let a beast like that walk, or they'll never let you live it down.” It wasn’t a rebuke. If anything, there was a note of dry amusement beneath the words. Damien’s own shoulders shifted as he turned back toward the sled, the hiss of snow underfoot filling the silence for a beat. He paused, loading another log onto the sled with a practiced motion. Then, as if offhand—too casual to be direct—

“Hollowed Grounds, huh.” The name wasn’t unfamiliar, but it came out slow, as if trying the shape of it. He studied Deimos, who was battle-scarred, unyielding, yet here choosing kindness over conquest.. and something like admiration settled in Damien’s chest. “You don’t sound like you’re from there. But I guess you wouldn't. Outlander, right? So what keeps you here, in Halo? Most who come through don’t stay long.” His tone was direct but measured, curious enough to invite an honest answer, not pry.

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

and the only solution was to stand and fight

“They already know,” he shrugged, amused, the twitch of a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth again. “I will make up for it later.” He tossed another apple the deer’s way, before casting another glance at the sled, snagging at the lines already tethered and beginning to drag it closer to other logs, inspecting another as Damien began to speak.

He should’ve known the Grounds would come into question – nowadays it was filled with Ancients, and beforehand, given the barrier, it’d likely been a matter of curiosity. “Yes. Was pulled in by the Voice with many others.” Not by choice, but by force, taken from roaming other lands and worlds. If it bothered him nowadays, he didn’t show it, cutting and slicing through another log with a few more motions of his earth magic, Zuriel snorting nearby as she continued to dig for some plantlife beneath pockets and patches of snow. “Besides leading it, you mean?” He gave an arch of his brow, a ghost of amusement flickering around, slightly juvenile aspects. Responsibility and duty tied their way into his shoulders and spine as everyday configurations; there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for the region – even so much as last season – between stabbing Pierce and battling monsters in Starfall.

Loading the timber into the sled, he persisted though; it’d been an honest inquiry. “I came from a place very similar to Halo. Maybe I was just drawn to it.” Pausing, after some moment of reflection, he continued, muscles content with the exertion and weight behind the wood. “But I admire the people here. The environment. Everything has to be tough. Persevering.” There wasn't any other option. “So I have bled for it many times to ensure it remains safe.” Defending a world that had taken him in, and being another shield for its power, dominion, and grace. Rolling up his sleeves, he turned the question back. “What keeps you here?”

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

Damien didn’t speak right away. Just listened, hands working rope through callused fingers as Deimos talked. The man didn’t posture, didn’t dramatize. He didn’t need to. He just laid it out—his reasons, his blood in the snow, the choice to bleed again if it meant keeping Halo standing.
There was something in that Damien understood, maybe even admired. Not the magic, not the titles—but the grit beneath them. Because Outlanders who’d lasted in Halo long enough to rise were still standing for a reason. And Deimos had done more than just last.

So Damien nodded once, slow, almost to himself.

“This is my home,” he said then, simply but with a kind of conviction. “Always has been. Before I even knew what that meant.”

He looked off toward the treeline as he spoke, where the snow hung thick on the branches and shadows pooled beneath the evergreens. One of the luxere stepped lightly through the drifts, lowering its head to nose at something half-buried beneath the powder. Its antlers caught what little light filtered through the overcast sky, casting faint reflections in the snow as it dug, slow and steady.

“I was raised out here. Learned the land by walking it. Learned the cold by bleeding in it. Everything I’ve got in me came from this place.”

There wasn’t reverence in his tone but there was weight.

“I stay because I belong here. Like the snow, or the trees, or the wolves. I know how to live with it, and honestly? I'm not sure I'd know how to live without it. And I’d rather freeze on my feet out here than be warm somewhere I don’t belong.”

Damien paused, dragging a log into place before looking up, eyes steady on Deimos. “You carry a lot on your shoulders—Warden of Halo and leader of the Monster Hunter’s Guild. That’s not a role most could handle on a good day.” His tone was quiet but firm, no fluff or false praise.

He shifted his weight, adjusting the load on the sled. “I’m curious how it fits together. How do you balance the city’s safety with... the hunt?” He held back the rest of his questions, choosing instead to meet Deimos’s gaze with a quiet spark of curiosity in his brown eyes; a subtle, unspoken readiness to learn.

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Deimos once had homes like this too – but he’d been born beside the sea, in a world far beyond this one and the next, with their roles mapped out and strength foretold. Wars had come there too, and he’d lost it all, so he understood the need, the conviction, the grit to keep on toiling. There weren’t any other options. And much like in Halo, these weren’t creatures who stuck their head in the sands or surf, but ground into the earth, the ice, the rime, the snow, and chipped away at what needed to be done. Refuges, sanctities, and sanctuaries were things he held near and dear to his heart, amongst the myriad of people who made up this realm and region. And he’d done anything to ensure their safety.

So he smiled at Damien’s reasons, the comprehension palpable and close. Cutting through and lifting another log, he listened to the sounds of the roaming luxere nearby, but left them alone now – knowing they wouldn’t get much closer with his magic threading through his frame. “I like to think everyone who lives here belongs. Halo is a choice,” and he wrinkled his nose, gave a deep rumble of laughter. Because in the end, so many could collect themselves elsewhere – Torchline, plentiful, beautiful, and temperate, King’s End, widespread and still new, Stormbreak, jagged edges, legends and sorrow, or the Grounds, with its own barrier entanglements and newfound glory, but those who yearned for the expanse of glaciers and tundras had altogether different temperaments. “And to stay means strength.” In their blood, in their veins, pressed against the wake.

Shrugging his shoulders and then peeling his jacket off, he didn’t expect the statements, though he did snort at the notions. “I am aware. Thankfully I can take fighting a war off the list now.” Twice over – though the present peace still left him a bit bereft. Along with supervising his soldiers, and the painstaking tasks of daily regional discrepancies. “They fit together easily. If there are monsters at our door, then that is part of my job to remedy the situation. It is scheduling things that takes more of a balance than anything else.” Sometimes there were things Evie could supervise in his absence, and other moments he had to parse through and decide what was more important. “Which is why we have multiple members in different regions. Other hunts can be delegated.”

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

Damien tipped his head in quiet agreement at the Warden’s words, the corner of his mouth twitching at the notion. To stay means strength. The line settled in him like the weight of an axe handle in his palm; grounding. Did he feel strong? In his own way. Not in the bellow-and-brag sense, but in the stubborn, keep-moving way things out here had to be. Stop too long in the snow and you froze. Simple as that.

Out in the distance, the small knot of luxere picked their way across the ice-crusted drifts. Damien’s gaze slid to them for a beat, noting how they kept their distance, watchful but unalarmed. Much like the man beside him, he thought.

When Deimos went on, explaining how the Guild and Halo’s defenses worked in tandem, Damien listened with a faint crease between his brows. He didn’t know much about guilds or the sort of monsters the man meant, but the structure itself made sense. In his own work—whether hauling timber, setting traps, or putting down a dangerous beast—sometimes one man couldn’t do it alone. You gathered a crew, divvied the load, and trusted each one to pull their weight.

“That tracks,” he said after a moment, stepping forward to drag one of the fresh-cut logs into place on the sled. As he adjusted the ropes tying it all down, his tone carried a glint of curiosity, not sharp but persistent, like water wearing at stone. “So, what’s the most dangerous thing you’ve come across out there?”

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Strength came in many different forms; brawn, prowess, potential, convictions, endurance, fortitude, might – it all depended on the individual and their goals. Deimos had always sought out multitudes in those factions, whether it be through persistence and loyalty, strength of his promises, he strived for that each and every day. And for Halo, he wanted the region to be immersed in the quality of its defenses, of its surroundings, to be able to fend off what Caido often prospered and provided.

Chucking the last remaining portion of the log into the sled, he lifted his hair off his neck, tossed it back into a bun as he continued moving. The question made him pause, and he snorted – for there was quite a variety – but the most dangerous would either be their fellow mankind, capable of great damage and destruction in their quest for invasions or subterfuge – or those that had rendered the greatest threat in a short amount of time. “Besides the Family?” He hoped Damien hadn’t ever come across such parasitic individuals, but nonetheless, his mind traced through two wars, fights amidst and against demigods of the Voice’s prowess, and still landed upon one singular outlook. “Dragons.”

He could see Zuriel pinning her ears from the corner of his eye; the memory likely particularly haunting for her as well. “Well before I was ever involved with the monster’s guild – but the leader of the group had a quest, and for some reason we chose to go after a white one for part of it. Had no business doing so.” He shook his head, long strides sweeping along the portions of blended snow and grass, picking up a few spare branches for eventual kindling and placing them amidst the vessel.

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

I know it's been a long time coming
I'm angry and I know that's weak

The Family, Damien had managed to stay out of their warpath though just as anyone in Caido had, he'd been subjected to their more far-reaching effects. After a certain point, there had been no escaping the void's corrupted gaze. "It is a good thing the Family aren't here anymore..." was all he said of that.

Damien’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of 'dragons', the weight of the answer settling over him like the cold that pressed in from all sides. He didn’t push immediately for details—he knew better than that—but the silence stretched just long enough for the unspoken understanding to fill the space between them. Dragons weren’t just beasts. They were living storms, legends carved from fire and scale.

He glanced toward Zuriel briefly, reading the subtle tension in her stance like a shadow of old wounds lurking just beneath her composed exterior.

He shifted a log with a practiced ease, the scrape of wood on wood filling the pause. 

Finally, his voice came low. “I've heard stories about the dragons. Don't know how many of them are true but there's always a common thread; people who go after them don't often come back.”

And for that reason, he had never been wont to try his hand at it. Even now, he didn't so much as imagine that was something he'd ever go and do. "You were either very brave, or very foolish..." he said, a rare combination of admiration and humor entangled in Damien's voice.

After a moment's pause, he sobered.

"What happened?" The question was utterly simple, but carried a gravity that spoke of respect—both for the creatures they hunted and the men who faced them. He knew from experience how quickly a hunt could turn into a nightmare, how the cold could become the least of your worries once a large predator was involved. He could imagine that feeling magnified ten times if that predator were a fuckin' dragon.

And I'm longing out that open window
For whatever it is I seek