the shape of shrapnel

Deimos

before bones, before dirt, before even light
this is who we were

The first sight of purple and lavender across the wake had him rigid and taut; maybe in brief disbelief. And then it cemented further into the lines of trepidation that had always been there, always calculated and wondered and sprang upon in the midst of his darkest thoughts.

Halo wasn’t infallible. Never had been. None of them were. But gods they’d pressed their might and dominion into the Citadel with rushes of protection and shelter, opted for healing, for ensuring the world could be mended from the strains, and then –

His jaw became a firm line, other than the muscles ticking and feathering there. He was silent at first, stepping upon the ice initially out of the gates, everything running cold through his heart and lungs. Unnatural and unforgiving. The Sword swallowed down all the bile threatening to collect in his throat, the overbearing weight in his shoulders pressing into his spine and ribs. It felt like failure and cut like damnation, of things they could’ve and would’ve and should’ve done –

And now it scarcely mattered.

“We need to warn everyone,” he issued to Rhiannon. “Make sure no one ventures out here.” And somewhere in the back of his mind came a thunderous my fault my fault my fault bounty of guilt and predilection, loud and raucous.

this untamable expanse
churning proof that we have always been deep, restless souls

Rhiannon

Unlike Deimos, Rhiannon had begun to believe that Halo was infallible. They'd succeeded where others had failed, and they boasted the hot springs that could heal infection, and they'd remained relatively unscathed throughout all that had come before. And maybe, if she were older and wiser, she would have known that their good fortune would eventually end. As it were, though, as she accompanied Deimos to the tundra and looked out over the notably violet-tinged snow, her eyes widened with something like fear.

But if Deimos was scared, he did a good job of masking it, offering only a rapidly barked order, snapping Rhiannon out of her frozen state and into action. She nodded, swallowing hard, already making plans to spread the word. "Is it... everywhere?" she asked. In other words, were they even safe behind the Citadel walls?

don't get sad, get even

Deimos

before bones, before dirt, before even light
this is who we were

Vox in their heads didn’t help; the threats, the warnings, the reason why they’d been targeted. It nearly made him laugh, all these nuances and feats. Instead, it lit a fire, stoked and damned in the cursed, infernal portions of his heart – determination contorting in all the rage beginning to build and build, kindled, incensed, stoked. Rhiannon’s question kept him from stepping further into the midst and carving himself out like a knife. The adrenaline, rage, guilt, and trepidation all blended him together in a line of rigid capabilities, wondering just how far he could or would go.

For now, it was the sky.

“I will check.” And with a flourish he shifted, spiraling upwards in a motion of eagle feathers and liberation, searching the ramparts of their home. It gave him something to do in the blows and tirades – but gods, to witness the stretch of it, all purple infused with the ice, rime, and snow, raked a cold, cold nefarious edge into his soul.

this untamable expanse
churning proof that we have always been deep, restless souls

Rhiannon

The purple, from Rhiannon’s vantage point, was endless, and as Deimos took to the skies, the soldier made her way quickly and efficiently towards the Citadel. They would need to close the gates against the Void and pray the infection couldn’t jump the walls. If it got into the city… Rhiannon shuddered. They were all doomed if it spread within the Citadel.

A thought struck her as she ran: the springs. The ability to heal the infected. That was gone now. She wondered if it was simply that their path was blocked, or if the springs were infected, too. And even if they could get there, who would be willing to test it out?

don't get sad, get even

Deimos

before bones, before dirt, before even light
this is who we were

It stretched in unfurling, hideous motions across the expanse of the Tundra, as far as his eagle eyes could pinpoint. The Fangs, the Greenwing, and everything else down to the coast and the sea varnished in a rich, disgusting hue; a warning, a forbearing arch of disaster and mayhem – nothing they’d seen since Starfall had landed. Clicking his beak, he shifted and turned, staring upon the Citadel and its lights, its walls, its surroundings…with nothing touching it. Yet.

Diving downward and landing into his taller figure, his tightened, teeth gnashing together. “It has not come to the Citadel.” He left the ‘thus far’ out of it, because this was enough alarm. “But it expands across the Tundra.” Rhiannon was clever enough to figure out the rest without it being said – healing wouldn’t be able to take place. “We need to go warn everyone else.” Before broadcasts could reach – their citizens needed to know just how perilous the situation was. And then figure out the rest.

[FIN]

this untamable expanse
churning proof that we have always been deep, restless souls