always game

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Given that Deimos had been in their warpath, and part of the teams purposefully waylaying the individuals at opportunities, he could nod and appreciate the sentiment. “Agreed.” He’d taken the precautions, ensuring the Citadel wasn’t a target of their constituents and Family-based affiliations, but even then, there’d always been the multitudes of threats across other regions, or even the Tundra once more. At some point, eventually, he’d likely be able to think of them without the impending dread or trepidation, but it’d be a while yet, immersed in some sort of repose and peace for more than a few weeks.

He figured the dragons would make an impact, but he’d been truthful – in the course of history at his disposal and experience, beyond their own kind, those semblances of creatures had been the most destructive. Not to say they hadn’t deserved the damnation thrust upon them, they’d gone looking for that exact trouble, but the trauma laden around it had been something not easily spun away. Zuriel snorted and he countered with a vague wrinkle to his nose, as if trying to put it out of his mind. “A decent conclusion,” he offered at first, tossing more kindling portions into the sled and then moving it upwards again, spying another log laying in the distance, long since fallen. “Probably both. I do not think any of us knew what we were getting into. Dragons then had been nothing but those stories.” At least to Grounders and Outlanders, ignorant to the tales outside of three-hundred-year-old barriers, or in his case, uncertain about the inconsistency of such parameters and tales. It’d been a vicious, harsh, and unrelenting lesson.

Though, he didn’t quite expect the question – thinking the insinuations of horrors and terrors were enough. Reliving the notions made his jaw clench, eyes flickering upwards over the plain of woods and snow, streams and valleys, with a long-drawn sigh and as little words as possible. “Lost two of our friends and their companions.” Four deaths in a series of moments, there one instant and gone the next – Amalia’s sudden stillness, his shield ensuring the rest of them lived – his gaze narrowed, and then he took some longer strides, using the log as a distraction.

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

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

Damien’s hands stilled on the log he’d been shifting, the scrape of wood against wood unnaturally sharp in the silence that fell after Deimos’s words. Two friends. Two companions. Four lives vanished in a moment. He knew the risks, the speed with which a hunt could turn deadly, but there was a difference between knowing and carrying the weight of those lost names burned into your memory.

His jaw flexed slowly, as if chewing over a bitter taste. He’d heard the stories, sure. In Halo, bad news traveled faster than the wind and settled deeper than frost in your boots. You didn’t need to be there to feel it. The sorrow found you anyway, layered itself on your shoulders, worked its way under your skin. He thought about saying something easy—like I’m sorry—but those words were nothing more than paper pressed over a broken window. They didn’t stop the draft. Loss wasn’t a wound that healed. It was something you learned to live around. Damien had his own share, no dragon hunts among them, but loss cut the same cold in the end.

He drew in a long, cold breath, the kind that scraped your lungs before settling into your chest. Out in the drifts, the luxere moved in slow procession, their glowing antlers catching the pale light like fragments of a distant starfield. “May Mort keep them well,” he said at last, the words quiet but steady. In Halo, or to Damien at least, such blessings weren’t meant to comfort the living—they were offerings to the dead, small coins left at the gates of whatever lay beyond, so their memory wouldn’t slip away with the falling snow.

Damien glanced over at Deimos, catching the faint tightening in his jaw before the man turned back to his work. The pale light caught in his eyes, but it didn’t warm them. They were fixed on something far older and far colder than the snow beneath their boots. Behind him, the wind dragged thin streamers of frost across the open plain, whispering low through the skeletal trees. Even as Deimos bent to his task, Damien saw the weight lingering in that steady gaze—an echo of the harsh, unforgiving land they both called home.

"How come you keep leading the monster hunter guild, knowing what's out there? Most hunters, when they have a bad day with an Ursur, hang up their weapons for good." Damien let out a dry chuckle that carried no judgment, just the truth of hard-earned experience. He couldn’t count the old hunters in Halo who’d quit for reasons like losing half a face to a bear’s swipe—or losing half their party to one. Many of those men and women were the ones who’d sent him out for food, or hired him to deliver goods. 

For himself, Damien wasn’t sure what kept him moving forward. Not courage, not a grand purpose. Maybe just stubbornness—something primal and silent that refused to let go. He wished there was something more than survival to cling to but if it existed, it was buried beneath years of cold nights and harder losses. Maybe one day he’d find it. For now, he kept going, because that was all he knew how to do.

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

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Carving his magic through the log grounded him; moved past the anguish of lost souls, not having the heart to say both Adam and Peter had turned into Ascended years later, and then been gone again, in that sea of war frameworks. To Mort, he supposed, where the world was greater and grander and the suffering over and done with. He liked to think they would’ve preferred living though – but the wood nearby had already been severed, and he tossed it along as if it were nothing – listening to the echoes of the sled, to the screeches of Belial overhead.

The question pierced through with such a directness that he could almost feel a snort building. Perhaps he wasn’t used to others being as blunt and curt to him as he was to them – gaze turning back to Damien briefly, before rounding towards another fallen tree, though upon checking, it had rotted out, and he left it for other foragers while his thoughts clung and spun together.

The Sword knew loss and death better than most elements of the world – it had been a steady fixture in his life since his teenage years, no matter which realm he called home. War as a youth, to friends buried beside battlefields, to his own flesh and blood rendered and destroyed…then there’d been Helovia itself, with all its multitudes of ruin and chaos. And there’d been hours of simply giving in to the anguish – where he hadn’t been capable of reaching for any tethers, hadn’t even bothered to raise his head against the pounding waves. To let it sink and consume and suffocate.

Which hadn’t been the end to his story – but a chapter, a turning point, one of a dozen forks in the road.

So eventually he mired through the inquiry, the twist of a grin beginning to wane its way back to his features. “My days of giving up are long gone.” He had too much at stake now. A region. A home. A family. Friends. Things he’d carefully crafted and built over despair and torture, terror and trepidation. “Too many things to live for nowadays.” He couldn’t fathom wearing away into nothingness when there were so many things he’d fought for along the way. “It takes time – to find those moments, people, or places. But worth it, just the same.” At which he glanced back at Damien, expecting some rebuttal, before dragging the vessel further up the stream.

Altering the subject, in case the other man didn’t want to respond, he jutted his jawline towards the west. “My companion spotted some deer,” not luxere,“over that way. When we finish up, we can hunt, if you want.”

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

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

Damien hooked the last of the logs into place on the sled, giving the knots one last sharp tug. The wood gave a low groan as it settled, the sound carrying in the still air. Deimos’s words still hung there between them, the kind that sank in and stayed put, whether you wanted them to or not. It takes time [...]. But worth it, just the same.

For a long moment, Damien didn’t look at him. He stared at the rope in his hands instead, thumb working over the coarse fibers.

“I lost my folks young,” he said finally, less spilling his guts and more like he was stating the weather. “Couple others too, here and there. Everyone I knew either died, disappeared, or left. You spend enough time alone after that, the years start blurring together. You keep moving because… well, what else are you gonna do?” His mouth twitched into something that might’ve been a smile, but didn’t quite make it. “Twelve years goes by like it’s nothing, and you look back and realize you’ve been talking to yourself more than anyone else.”

He straightened, gave the sled’s frame a push with his boot to test its weight. “Guess I’m still waiting to see if there’s something worth hanging around for. Until then, I just keep proving I can.”

He finally looked over at Deimos, and there was a flicker in his eyes that was equal parts humor and weariness. “But hunting? That’s easy enough." He checked over his crossbow and gave a nod, ready. "Lead on.”

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

and the only solution was to stand and fight

He grabbed a few more sticks, tossing them into the sled to add to the kindling eventualities. Silent, quiet, he listened again; observant of the fact that they had similar pasts – at least, when it came to fallen families. Though perhaps Deimos had been gifted and granted more time, as he’d been a gangly teenager hellbent on following warfronts and glories when his parents had been snatched away – but thereafter had been a malicious bout of what it meant to lose, time and time and time again.

But his years hadn’t blurred together – not when he’d found other portions to bind himself to. Regions, painstakingly carving notches and knives into their wakes, no matter which world he found himself a part of. People eventually too, wearing their way around his armor and walls.

Twelve was a remarkably long time though to be falling apart into listlessness, into nothing, and he glanced over his shoulder, back at the man, an arch to his brow once more. How many of them had become habitually tied to those listless ends? How many of them simply moved forward, day in and day out, with no purpose or goal but to put the motions behind them? His eyes narrowed in speculation, before they wandered back towards the presses and inclines of snow, things hidden and lurking beneath the frozen particles.

With little effort or trouble, he tugged on the sled once Damien tested the weight, muscles content with the arrangement as it maneuvered easily upon the packed surface. “Waited long enough at this point,” he grinned; not solemn, not condemning; solidarity in the way life had shaken and carved. “Protecting things kept me going for a while.” Driven by the need to ensure he didn’t lose something, someone, else in the process. “Then others sneak up on you when you least expect it,” he shrugged; sometimes the guards slipping away and letting multitudes in when safety and sanctuary was a real, tangible thing.

But then there was hunting, and that didn’t require any sentiment at all. Nodding at the indulgence, he placed the sled at the lining of some trees, secure and not a distraction, nor a deterrent, for impending maneuvers and flanking deer. Strides were certain and steady, following Belial’s motions through their bond, pushing his footfalls so they were light, nearly inscrutable from a distance. “When we get there, I can rush them towards you,” if that was a preference – Deimos could become a bout of weapons at any point.

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

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

Damien hooked the sled’s rope over one shoulder, giving it a testing pull. It slid easy enough over the crusted snow—not that Deimos needed the extra hand, but it made Damien feel less like dead weight. He glanced sidelong at Deimos’s grin, felt the edge of it land somewhere in his chest, then turned his eyes forward again.

“Twelve years goes by faster than you think,” he said, voice low, almost like he was talking to the trail ahead of them. “You start out meaning to just get through winter. Then it’s another one. And another. Next thing you know, you can’t even remember the year you stopped expecting something better to come along.”

He adjusted his grip on the rope, the leather glove creaking faintly. “Never had a family to protect, not since I was sixteen. And even then..." Well, Rane had been more reluctant caretaker, and sometimes a teacher, than anything else. "Just me, my work, and the next day. Guess that’s enough, most of the time. Keeps the snow off your back, anyway.” He huffed a dry little laugh that had no real humor in it. “But I get what you’re saying. Maybe something’ll sneak up on me too, one of these days.”

Damien followed him in, letting the sled rest where Deimos had left it. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward, but it was sharp, cut through with the awareness of what came next. He slid a bolt from the quiver at his hip, seating it into the crossbow with the practiced ease of someone who didn’t waste time when there was meat on the line. “That works,” he said, of rushing them, his tone sharpening into focus again. “You get ‘em moving, I’ll make sure they don’t get far.”

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

He could understand the notion of the years toiling together – one foot in front of the other for so long that when one glanced up, the trees had shifted and changed, the people had aged, the world had altered and turned into something else. He’d just always, somehow, someway, been in the thick of it instead – pulled into the orbit of bedlam and stood amidst the eye of the storm. The Sword couldn’t argue which one was better, more weighted or cumbersome, more overbearing or nothing at all – but the comprehension was there just the same, as they pulled the sled, as tundra wakes were naught more than a means to ends.

Nor could he promise that it would happen for the other man either – something, somewhere down the lines, but he could convey an offer, he supposed. A stepping stone, a pathway, whether or not Damien chose to traverse along those particular rocks and pebbles. “Well, if this hunt goes well, and you are interested in joining, there is always the guild.” Purpose, though driven through mauling and safety, enough to convey multiple people and the urgency to shield and protect; experiences meant to be not confounding, but necessary acts for Caido itself.

Leaving that for Damien to peruse, he nodded at the agreement and accord. Leaving the sled where it was, he shifted immediately, bounding into his massive hellhound form, before following the scent, and Belial’s outreach, across the plains of white. He’d be a stark contrast against the hues and colors, but only for a few moments, as he ducked around an outcropping of rocks, and spied the herd of deer. Some were restless, some were avoidant, and some weren’t paying attention at all, and it’d give him an opportunity to strike while the other Halovian found a decent spot to take his shots.

The peryton joined him the moment he called, and together they started – ferocious and keen, swift and eager, one bark sent a ricochet of movement through the beasts. Heads raised high and tails flagged, and they were suddenly a running cavalcade of panic. With Belial nearby and swarming, flanking, Deimos could do the same, yielding them to the area he’d recently left.

Deimos

I will either find a way, or make one

canine stock | background stock

DAMIEN

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

Damien’s brow ticked upward and he took a step (or a few) back as the man all but tore himself into another shape — bigger, darker, all fangs and shadow. He let the surprise settle for a heartbeat before adjusting his grip on the crossbow and ensuring the strings were drawn.

He slipped off into the scrub where the snow thinned under the pines, finding a low hollow that would keep him out of sight until the herd broke into view. He knelt, the cold biting through his trousers, crossbow balanced loosely across his knee while his breath slowed to match the stillness around him.

The guild. The word had a weight to it, heavier than the weapon in his hands. He’d been dancing around purpose for years now, never letting anything stick long enough to be called one. Maybe Deimos was right, sometimes it found you. Maybe.

He pushed the thought aside when the first snap of branches carried on the wind. The hellhound’s bark echoed faint and sharp, and the quiet ahead of him began to ripple with movement. Damien brought the crossbow to his shoulder, sighting down the line where the deer would break into the clearing, finger resting light on the trigger.

Then the ground shivered under pounding hooves, breath fogging in the cold as the herd broke through the treeline. He didn’t waste time on the lead buck—they were already blowing past—but tracked a slower doe veering toward him. The bolt struck deep; she stumbled, went down in the churned snow.

He was already reloading, fingers working by feel, stepping off and sideways to let a thick spruce take the brunt of the oncoming wave. Another shape cut close—a young buck, eyes wild—and Damien loosed again, the shot thudding home just before the rest of the herd thundered by and was gone. The woods fell still except for the ragged breath in his lungs. Two down. Good enough.

Stepping out from behind the trunk of the spruce, he glanced around for Deimos and his companions as he made his way across the freshly-disturbed snow. One of the deer he'd shot lay on the ground, its flanks heaving in shallow bursts. There was no celebration in Damien, no thrill of the hunt. Only a quiet, efficient mercy as he knelt down and pulled a knife. The killing blow was delivered quickly.

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

Belial loosened one of his ear-piercing screeches, and the herd continued, persisted, across the field. The Sword’s sharp, canine gaze tracked, watching for slower, weaker movements and motions, for those ahead who might be felled with an arrow, or for creatures he’d simply take down on his own. When two dropped swiftly, quickly, he snickered, as Damien had been swift and precise, then picked up the pace, witnessing the prey swarm, scattered, strive to get away from his impending wake.

Another ahead darted to the left, but her limp was unmistakable. Eventually, she would’ve succumbed to the elements in some capacity – incapable of keeping up with the herd (like now), abandoned to drift until something else came along. But he’d end it in a matter of moments, long, massive muscles unfurling, unleashing, the stretch of his stride eating up the ground – until he ultimately caught up with her. Paws reached and jaws clenched, and the pulse grew weak, then still and numb, as the rest of the deer tore off – safe for another day.

Content with his kill, he dragged her across the snow by the neck, tail wagging and the peryton trailing behind him, over to where he’d left the sled. Zuriel rolled her eyes and snorted, but otherwise left him alone.

Deimos

I will either find a way, or make one

canine stock | background stock

DAMIEN

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

Damien spotted movement through the trees—a dark shape pacing across the snow, massive shoulders rolling as Deimos hauled his kill by the neck. The hellhound was a sight to watch in motion, like a fiery shadow that had grown teeth. Damien let his gaze linger a moment, the pragmatic part of him noting how clean the takedown had been. Efficient. No thrashing, no wasted time.

He crouched beside the doe he’d just finished, gripping her by the forelegs and dragging her through the churned powder toward the sled. The work was cold and slow, his breath fogging in short bursts, but the weight was familiar enough. By the time he reached the sled, Deimos was already there, Zuriel looking unimpressed and the winged stag-thing—Belial—trailing along behind.

“Clean kill,” Damien said of Deimos' as he heaved the doe into place. He lashed the carcass down with practiced knots, pausing only to glance and nod toward Belial. “Does it eat meat?” His tone wasn’t wary, just curious. If it did, indeed, eat meat, then he thought the companion deserving of some of the bounty it had helped acquire. But... it was difficult to tell.

Once the last deer was secured, Damien straightened, stretching the tightness from his shoulders. His gaze flicked briefly to Deimos, the corner of his mouth quirking in something like a half-smile. “So… does this count as a good enough hunt for that guild offer you mentioned?” He didn’t say yes outright, but the curiosity in his voice was clear enough. Maybe it was a reckless thought—throwing himself in with monster hunters—but recklessness had a certain appeal when the alternative was more years of the same.

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

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Deimos, no matter which form he occupied, always deigned to be efficient. Methodical. Competent. He didn’t have time to foolishly chase down prey because he’d been rash or impulsive; actions were concocted, then unfurled, potent, lethal, and dangerous, or merely contorted for the best, optimal outcome. It was much the same for the list and litany of operations he had to conduct daily – so even spare moments weren’t dragged into imprudent, unreasonable efforts.

Once he’d dragged the doe over, he shifted, utilizing his raw strength to place her amidst the pile of logs on the sled. “Thank you. Yours looked quick.” From what he’d seen anyway – shot, done in, nothing fanciful or ridiculous, like he’d seen from many across the years and regions. Tying his deer down amidst the timber, his eyes shifted from the task, to Belial, who was already screeching something at Zuriel. “He does. Perytons are carnivorous deer.” Perhaps, in warning, to not be alarmed if he ever saw the companion munching upon portions of meat. “He bonded with me after I caught him eating his way through a flock of ningo.” Shaking his head, in either fondness or exasperation, he snagged at some treats in his pockets, tossing them towards both – the peryton launched instantly, snagging at it in the snow, while the unicorn maintained her dignified poise.

Returning to ensure the rest of the ropes were secured, he arched his brow at Damien’s response – quietly amused, tucking the grin inward. “I suppose. You were quite capable.” But that had been prey running away, and the things they faced would be different. “Have you had much experience with monsters?”

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

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

He’d always been drawn to animals, studied them in passing when he could, though a companion of his own had never been practical. Or perhaps he hadn’t been ready. Responsibility, constant care… it wasn’t something to take lightly. Still, watching the peryton move with such precision and purpose stirred something in him.

He watched in faint amusement as Belial snapped up a treat midair. “Interesting.” He paused, watching the creature’s movements, the way it assessed its surroundings and calculated its actions. He could see the intelligence in it, sharp and unapologetic. Something he respected. He looked over at Deimos again, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. “Besides being a carnivorous deer, is he… manageable? Companionable?”

When Deimos arched his brow, Damien offered a faint nod, keeping his tone measured. “My experience is limited. I've mostly only ever faced off against the usual in Halo… Ursers, wolves, the odd corrupted thing that strays too close to Snowcloak. Nothing like what you handle. But I’ve still got skills that’ll come in handy, no matter what we’re hunting.” Tracking, trapping, reading the land—it wasn’t just habit. It was second nature. Maybe more like lifeblood. “I will need better gear for monsters, but… I can train more.” He allowed himself a dry half-smile. “If the guild offer’s still on the table, I’d be a fool not to take it. Beats the routine, at least.”

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

and the only solution was to stand and fight

In other worlds, Deimos hadn’t had much to do with companions either – his magic in Helovia assured no one would be getting close to him – but here, they’d become a part of his soul. Without Zuriel, he would’ve been dead many times over, and Belial had been another portion of scrutiny and capability, despite his raucous demeanor. Nowadays he couldn’t fathom dawns and twilights without them, far beyond what he’d ever been anywhere else.

Damien’s curiosity about the peryton seemed particular, though Deimos wouldn’t comment on it. Carnivorous deer weren’t wholly common elements in. many circumstances. “He listens, most of the time,” he shrugged, as if that were par for the course with the creature’s personality. “He is an extra set of eyes, very protective, loyal. I can trust him to watch over my family or assist in hunts.” In shifts, between Evie’s Micah and his own duo, they could alternate and ensure Erebos always had someone surveying him.

Though the subject of monsters remained, and he halted in his movements, having gone over to scratch Zuriel’s withers and pick through any tangled mane from the wind. Facing off against Halo’s beasts wasn’t a small feat – they certainly had formidable cretins lurking amidst tundra expanses – but a lack of sufficient armaments would have to be considered and resolved. He didn’t want any incidents again, like with Colt whipping out a lasso in hopes of snagging a tusked bear. “Good.” And at least Damien was willing to embark upon that. “We do have some weapons in the guild hall and the barracks, should you want something plain, but efficient. Gods could always enhance something for you.” Nodding his head, he considered the offer snagged and taken. “Then consider yourself a part of the guild. I will likely be taking some of the newer recruits elsewhere in Deepfrost,” as Halo itself would be bombarded with the colder depths of the harsher season. “If you would be interested in testing your skills.”

DEIMOS

DAMIEN

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

As Deimos spoke of the peryton, Damien found himself tugged by an unfamiliar pang—envy, maybe, or something close. The idea of a creature bound to you, not just as a partner but as a guardian, a mirror of your instincts, carried a weight he hadn’t let himself dwell on before. More than a hunting dog, more than the fleeting trust of men who shared a campfire—it was connection, bone-deep. His eyes followed Belial with sharper attention, watching how the creature seemed to move in rhythm with Deimos’ presence.

“I bet it makes the hunt.. something else,” Damien admitted at last, “That bond. You must be able to coordinate so much easier. Can you feel his emotions, or…” He hesitated, tone uncharacteristically uncertain, “do you know his thoughts?” He’d never asked these sorts of questions of anyone before. He’d never allowed himself to. But for once, the curiosity pressed out, bold as a knife edge.

When the talk turned toward weapons, Damien’s mouth curved, almost wistful. “I’ve always wanted a good battle axe." Not the sort for firewood. Something balanced, quick. Wieldy. Enough bite to cut deeper than a hatchet, but without the drag. The thought of it lingered, the weight of it in his hands as real as the cold in the air.

At the mention of gods enhancing weapons, though, his gaze narrowed slightly, thoughts skimming inwards. The possibility unsettled him, though he wasn’t sure why. That thread unraveled before he could follow it, because Deimos’ next words caught him off guard. Consider yourself part of the guild. Simple as that. Damien held still a moment, the shape of the offer settling in. No point dodging what he’d all but asked for. No point pretending he wasn’t tempted. “Just send for me when the time comes,” he said, voice even but edged with a genuine commitment. “I’ll be there.”

And yet, when the silence stretched between them again, the earlier thought circled back. The gods. Their hands in steel and fate alike. Damien’s curiosity edged into his voice before he could stop it. “Deimos,” he asked, more cautious this time, “what’s been your experience with the gods?”

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