[SE] all is not frost

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Palace always made for an imposing figure, but long gone were the days were Wardens lived within. Deimos and Evie had established themselves elsewhere, suited just fine in their Ignatius residence and homestead, rather than play sovereigns and royalty in a massive edifice. Nowadays, it had become a place for multitudes to gather – an adequate shelter in emergencies, and a quick area for stockpiling and resources. Though, currently, Deimos, Belial, and Zuriel (the latter two for moral support) stood beneath one of its many, many windows, on the portion and side of the building that contained the sanctuary aspects. He might’ve looked as though he was glaring at the lines of ice, stone, and snow, but in actuality he was deciphering which contortions had worked themselves into a weak spot – leaving more of the elements on the inside. Sighing, he eventually pinpointed the culprits; several worn fixtures along the sides, and began unfurling his incantations directly into the spaces high, high above, working the earth enchantments into the slabs of rock, striving to seal off what had been chiseled away by the weather. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Damien

you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence

Damien found Deimos the same way you might find a glacier—already there, immovable, working on something older and larger than yourself. The Warden’s back was to him, stone grinding against magic high above the windows where frost had gnawed its way in. Damien slowed, boots crunching through packed snow, and took in the sight with a faint curl of his mouth.

“Not a bad way to be spending the morning,” he said at last, voice rough with the cold. His breath hung between them before drifting off. He stopped a few paces away, furs heavy on his shoulders, and gave a short nod toward the great glass-and-stone face of the Palace. “Palace could swallow a hundred men whole and still look hungry. Guess it keeps you busy.”

He shifted then, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. His hand moved to the folds of his jacket, working careful against the thick leather. “Hey, Deimos…? Before I give you a hand, there’s something I want to show you.” His tone wasn’t quite casual—there was an undercurrent of tension, the kind that meant this wasn’t a thing he’d done lightly.

The jacket stirred, and a pale shape wriggled free against the dark. Damien eased her out, one arm cradling the small bulk of spotted fur until she blinked into the light. Aria’s ears twitched, nose working, long tail flicking once against his sleeve as she squirmed with life and restless energy.

He glanced at Deimos then, steady but not without a touch of wariness, like he wasn’t sure how this was going to land. “This is Aria,” he said simply. No explanation yet, no excuse, just the name laid bare in the space between them.

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Belial had long since warned the Sword of another’s approach – though he’d gained some subtly in maturity, only mildly screeching. Zuriel extended her usual greeting with residual, nonchalant features that could’ve rivaled her bonded’s. Deimos, however, snickered at the nuance, turning his head over his shoulder and nodding. “Nearly everything in Halo keeps me busy.” Not just the Palace, nor the council hall down the road, or the barracks…there always seemed to be an endless amount to do. The lack of war now just meant he had time to concentrate on those particulars. Intending to turn back to reinforcing portions of stone or gleaning them newfound entirely, the inquiry gave him pause – an arch to his brow as he turned to give the other man focus and attention. Such a statement could lend itself to a series of possibilities, and his mind was churning already: a weapon, or something inscrutable, left behind by the Family, a threatening overture or note… A snow leopard cub, despite his endless calculations, hadn’t been amidst the parameters. Snorting, the stony features altered into the lightest of smiles, amused by the bundle of fur and reminded of the time Evie had brought Micah home, holding the creature outwards in her confusion. “Congratulations. Where did you find her?” Perhaps Damien had sought out the gods after all – or had been fortunate, stumbling into a sudden bond. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Damien

you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence

Damien’s hand steadied on Aria’s ribs as the cub wriggled, claws catching the fabric of his jacket. Her wide eyes tracked Zuriel first, then Belial, ears flattening before springing back up, curious and fearless both. He stroked a thumb down the line of her spine, the way you might calm a skittish horse, though the truth was she had more spirit than he could ever sand smooth.

“Found her while I was hunting in the Fangs,” he said after a beat, tone low, clipped. He didn’t dress it up, didn’t bother with a lengthy hunter’s tale; only the important truths. “Her mother was a man-eater. I didn't know about any cub until afterward... She’d have starved if I hadn’t stumbled on her in the cave.” The words hung heavy for a breath, but he let them settle and moved on. There wasn’t any use gnawing on the regret of it. Survival didn’t leave much room for sentiment.

Aria yawned, teeth small and sharp, and butted her head against his chest. Damien’s mouth pulled tight, something softer pressing through the stone. He lifted his eyes back to Deimos, weight settling in his voice. “Anyway, I went to Frey. First time I ever set foot in a shrine.”

He paused there, letting the words stand on their own, strange and new as they were in his mouth. “They said she can be my companion, if I earn it. There’s a quest—tasks I have to see through before the bond can be sealed.”

After a moment, he gestured towards Deimos' duo, curious about the peryton and the unicorn's own origin stories. "Was it the same when they became your companions?"

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Zuriel eyed the miniature predator with her keen senses – gaze narrowing to a fine point before she gave a dismissive snort and walked a few strides away. Belial, on the other hand, was incessantly elated by the concept of another vicious little creature in his midst, and bounced energetically at Deimos’s knee, as if yearning for the cretin to be released so he could play with it. Or annoy it. Whichever happened first. Deimos reined him in though, so his wings unfurled dramatically, with a touch of a pout, as the Sword listened to the tale. Hunting in the Fangs. Man eating snow leopards (not even remotely surprising in Halo’s midst of animals). The notions that he had gone to Frey about it, especially after their latest discussion over gods, and Damien’s reluctance to march towards a shrine, had him snorting inwardly, though the touch of his smile remained purposefully vague, there was an inkling of juvenile mischief and a semblance of ‘I told you so’. “A worthwhile quest.” And an interesting way to seal the bond – but the Warden supposed there were multitude of ways about it. The inquiry about his own made him snort though. “No. Belial’s was much simpler. Zuriel’s far more harrowing.” Shrugging his shoulders, his stare went upwards again, incantations beginning to pick at the stone anew, working on finding the cracks and crevices still weak. “I had recently gone to a shrine too, after escaping from the Spire. Was trying to find divine intervention for my friends.” Which had worked in some ways. “But when I received no answer, I turned to find a landshark chasing a unicorn.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Damien

you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence

Damien shifted slightly, letting Aria wriggle closer to the edge of his arm. Her wide blue eyes tracked Belial with cautious curiosity, the small, velvety pads of her paws brushing lightly against his chest. He felt the faint tug of worry—she wasn’t used to other creatures this bold, and the thought of her being pawed at by Belial made him stiffen ever so slightly. But he also knew the cub would reveal nothing but her own curiosity, and if Deimos wanted a closer look…well, that was his choice. Without a word, he subtly tilted his arm just enough to offer the opportunity to hold the cute, spotted, fluffy, long-tailed, very-friendly cub.

A quiet smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as Deimos’ faintly smug look lingered, a pointed reminder of their prior conversations. He waved it off with the barest, crooked nod, letting the silent acknowledgment stand. “Thank you for your advice, that day,” he said, low and steady, letting the gratitude ride the words without fanfare.

Then his gaze flicked back to Deimos, curiosity sharpening despite the weight of the Fangs and Frey’s tasks. “Chasing the unicorn? How did you stop it?” His tone was careful but eager; not accusatory, just wanting to understand the thread of events. “Did Zuriel…choose you then, because you saved her?”

Aria let out a small huff, her ears twitching, as if she understood the importance of the conversation—or maybe she just wanted a closer look at Belial.

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Not expecting to hold the cub, Deimos snorted, but took up the offer with gentle aplomb. Given his experience with Micah, Evie’s own cub, and Erebos, despite his massive physique and demeanor, he gently clutched the curious creature directly into his arms, permitting her to curl upwards along his shoulder or there in the breadth of his chest. Belial made some noises below about it, but the Sword ignored him, brushing his hands against the leopard’s ears, should she be inclined for a scratch. “You are welcome,” he noted with another boyish grin, before the weight of yesteryears flickered back across his face. Momentarily distracted from his task, his eyes went from the cub to the unicorn hovering nearby, her ear flickering slightly towards him, as if waiting to hear how he told the story. “I took the blade I had and went to slay it. Was not easy by any means and nearly lost my arm for the efforts.” Stripped down, degloved, it had been a hazardous adventure, but he’d always repeat it for the end results. Had for the whole shape of his life in Caido – for everyone else in its vicinity. “Zuriel took pity on me and healed it. Then decided to stay. Maybe she thought I would not manage without her.” Which, in some parts, had been true. There’d been days and months and seasons where, had she not been in his life, he would’ve been long gone. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Damien

you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence

Aria didn’t hesitate once Deimos took her—her body went loose and comfortable in his massive hands, like she’d already decided he was safe. She climbed up his chest with surprising confidence, tail curling for balance, and pressed herself into the breadth of his shoulder. For a moment she nestled against the warm line of his neck, small purr rumbling like a distant storm. Then curiosity got the better of her. She mouthed at the edges of his hair, caught a strand of beard in her tiny teeth—and immediately jerked back with a disgusted shake of her head, sneezing once for good measure.

Damien tried not to laugh, but his eyes softened at the sight. It struck him that Aria had no hesitation with this man, where she might’ve clawed at another. That kind of instinct counted for something.

His gaze shifted, sharpening as Deimos spoke of Zuriel’s origins. The stripped-down words, the blade, the torn arm—it all set itself in Damien’s head with stark clarity. He tried to imagine it: blood on the ground, a landshark’s teeth closing fast, and a unicorn—proud and untouchable—choosing to bow her head for a man who’d thrown himself between her and death. A trade. A bond. One saved, one savior, and the line between them blurred into something deeper.

Damien’s mouth pulled tight, thoughtful. “Makes sense,” he said finally. “You saved her, so she saved you. A debt paid both ways.” He paused, thumb brushing along the cuff of his jacket as if worrying over an old seam. “More honest than the way most bonds are made.”

The weight of it settled in him, and he glanced at Aria curled along Deimos’ shoulder, her bright eyes half-lidded with drowsy trust. Frey’s task wasn’t just about proving himself to a god. It was also about proving himself to her. To earn her loyalty the way Deimos had earned Zuriel’s—not through luck, not through entitlement, but through survival shared.

His voice dropped, quiet but certain. “Seems right, that it’d take something like that. But.. worth it.”

For a few quiet heartbeats, he turned and observed the palace walls and windows before them. He could spot a few areas in need of some TLC, and wondered aloud, "So, where would you like to start?"

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Snorting at the young cub’s antics, he still tilted his head carefully, not ever inclined to have his hair or beard within reach (again, more lessons from Erebos). He snagged at a spare treat in his pocket, much to Belial’s dismay below, and the peryton keened a ridiculous whine, partially out of jealousy for not being held or granted favor with the jerky. Zuriel rolled her eyes through it all, as if the whole matter was beneath her. Saviors of one another had been a striking thing between the pair of them, for while the carnivorous deer was a part of their lives too, he’d never been a symbolic facet of what it meant to survive. Belial served as a reminder of the power of sheer, free will, while the unicorn was a masterful display of camaraderie and charity, the way generosity had come hand in hand. Deimos smiled at the simplicity of Damien’s words, but the statements ran far deeper than that. “I suppose,” he grinned, nose wrinkling as the cat began to curl further into him. “And now I spoil them both.” His glance went downward, to the leopard, then the deer and the mare herself, arching his brow her way. She shook her head, pretending to be dismissive, but the bond between them had gone on for many years, and he knew better than that. Touched, maybe, to be treated and catered to – but he believed she’d deserved it. They all did. “I would like to think most bonds are worth it,” at least with animals, and some with people – that if one put their time, their energy, into something, it would come out all right in the end. Simplistic, maybe, but he’d found far more friends than enemies along those roots. Looking back at the actual work to be done though, his mind focused on the task. “We had some snow pile into the palace, so I was using my magic to find the loose areas and fill them in, starting from the top.” Which meant Damien could start from the bottom if he liked. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Damien

you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence

Damien didn’t press the thought further when Deimos said it—most bonds are worth it. There wasn’t much to argue with in that, and nothing in him wanted to. Instead he let the silence hang, turning it over while Aria wriggled herself into place.

The cub had found her throne. Balanced high on Deimos’ shoulders, tail coiled for counterweight, she peered down at the peryton with all the solemnity of a queen addressing her subject. A soft chirrup rolled out of her throat, bright and insistent, as though she had something important to tell him. Whatever it was, she didn’t look about to budge.

Damien’s mouth curved, faint and fleeting, before he dropped his gaze to the nearest wall. Down here, the snow had blown hard against the foundation and melted just enough to seep into the seams. His bare fingers traced a jagged line where the mortar had crumbled away, ice crystals clinging like white moss. He knocked at it with his knuckles and heard the dull hollowness beneath. That was where the next thaw would work its way inside.

“I’ll start clearing these out,” he said at last, tugging a small chisel and hammer from his backpack. He wedged the edge into the seam and knocked loose the rotten mortar, shards of ice and grit scattering onto the packed snow at his boots. “Get the weak bits out first. Then I’ll pack them tight again.” His eyes flicked briefly upward to the roofline where Deimos was already intent. “We’ll meet in the middle.”

The steady rhythm of the hammer kept him grounded, stone yielding by degrees beneath his hand. While Aria purred and chirped, Damien worked with quiet efficiency, every strike shaving away what the winter had worn thin.

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame While Aria was secure, Belial certainly was not – inwardly, Deimos could simply roll his eyes and not entertain the notions of the peryton thinking he’d somehow been replaced. But one couldn’t always presume the carnivorous deer was out of ideas, for as soon as those high and mighty cat eyes peered his way, he did his best Zuriel impression and simply unfurled his wings, ghosting upwards so that he hovered above Deimos’ head – and therefore the cub’s. The Sword sighed, casting another snort into the vicinity, and nodded at Damien’s intentions – it’d been his plan regardless, with assistance or not. “Sure. Thank you for the help.” So again he fell into silence and concentration while the companions had their silent bickering contest; concentration and focus honed in on the incantations flowing through him, the beat of his pulse as he orchestrated stone filaments and earthen sentiments, sediments, to bend to his will. They sharpened at his request with no bluster; filling in the cracks and crevasses of old, primordial predicaments tucked amidst the ice, especially around the windows, melding and folding the elements until they could do naught more than obey. It went along silently, quietly, steady, unceasing, down the length of the wall, tracing over the foundations. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Damien

you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence

Damien adjusted his stance, bending low to get a better angle on the crumbling foundation beneath the nearest window. Without magic, his progress was measured, slower, but no less precise. Each chipped-away fragment of rotten mortar had to be replaced with care; the new packing needed to fill every crevice, to press tight against the cold stone so that melting snow wouldn’t find a foothold next thaw. He scooped a mixture of sand, powdered stone, and water from a small satchel, pressing it into the gaps with the flat of his chisel, smoothing edges with careful taps of the hammer. It was tedious work, but it required a kind of patience that came naturally to him—a tactile meditation as the minutes crawled along.

Aria, perched high on Deimos’ shoulders, let out a low, amused trill as Belial hovered above, wings fluttering in his dramatic imitation of Zuriel. The cub’s tail lashed back and forth, eyes narrowing into playful slits. Without breaking her balance, she batted gently at the air and cub-growled indignantly. Seeming satisfied, she settled deeper against Deimos’ neck, letting out a soft purr that resonated against the Warden’s shoulder, clearly enjoying the view—and the power of her tiny supremacy.

Damien caught a brief smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, watching the interaction over his work. His hands returned to the seams of stone, tapping, packing, and pressing, every motion deliberate. He could never match the sweep of Deimos’ magic, but the foundation—these fine, exacting details—needed a patient hand.

Every completed stretch of wall beneath the window felt like a small victory, a patch of stubborn stone persuaded to hold, a crack refused passage to the frost. Occasionally his gaze flicked up, checking that Aria remained safe and that Belial wasn’t too bold; the cub, for her part, had claimed her perch as a throne, quiet but watchful, the soft blue of her eyes scanning the court of companions.

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame They fell into silence and work, precision amidst the foundations. Along the interim of stone and ice and chiseling, Deimos conjured his own routine – magic sweeping over the sanctions, indicating weakened portions, his brows furrowing when the range defined just out of reach of his incantations. “Need to go higher,” he indicated, as perhaps a warning to Damien and an apology to the cub, for he wouldn’t risk her as he intended to meander further. Gently coaxing her off his shoulders, careful of claws, he took a few steps back before half-shifting, thunderbird wings soaring outwards with their stark, vivid blue plumage. Taking several practiced motions with the long feathers, the massive avian assortments snagged at the wind, pulsing him towards the portions of the Palace slightly out of reach – that way he’d be able to utilize his magic without scaling out a window. At that though, Belial grew ever smugger, giving a cheeky grin to the leopard cub before following his bonded – soaring with ease along the greater, grander heights. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Damien

you are the storm before the calm
and the ache after the silence

Damien paused at Deimos’ warning, hammer stilled mid-swing. He wiped the grit of crumbled mortar from his fingers against his trousers and glanced up just in time to see Aria being eased from her lofty throne. She let out a small, chirping protest as if the Warden had betrayed her trust, and when Belial flashed her a smug grin from below, her ears pinned flat in dramatic outrage.

Damien gave a low, sharp whistle and the cub’s head snapped toward him, as if she’d only just remembered he existed. With an indignant mewl, she scampered across the packed snow, tail streaming, voicing her complaints with every bounding step. Damien crouched to scoop her up before she could trip over her own oversized paws, settling her against his chest.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured, voice wry but soft as she clambered up his frame with all the confidence of a born climber. Her long tail looped around his collarbone, big paws hooked carefully against his shoulders, claws sheathing just enough not to pierce through the heavy wool. Perched there, she butted her head against the side of his jaw, still muttering her grievances in little huffs.

Damien only shook his head, faint amusement flickering across his features. With his hands free again, he moved along to the next damaged stretch of wall. The snow had driven deep here too, wedging ice into seams so narrow it had split the stone apart. He set his chisel into the gap and knocked gently, precise and steady, until flakes of brittle mortar fell loose. Then he pressed fresh mix into place, working it smooth with the patience of someone used to slow, stubborn tasks.

Above, the flash of Deimos’ wings caught in the pale light as he rose toward the higher faults, Belial trailing in his wake. Damien let the sound of his hammer fall into rhythm again, Aria’s purr vibrating against his shoulder like a counterpoint, and together they pressed the Palace one step closer to weathering LongNight. "Almost done down here," he'd eventually call up, though whether Deimos could hear him was another matter.