Tomes

Noah

I'll let it burn the way the sunlight burns my skin
The way I feel inside, the way the day begins

His heart thudded against his ribcage like a forgers hammer against red hot steel. There was already a flush to his cheeks as he entered the warm building, shedding outer layers instinctively as was his Halovian nature. He made his way with heavy steps towards The Sword’s office and rapped on the door three times. He opened a brief window of himself over the attuned bond so that his warden knew who was at the door.

He knew that catching him here would be a fleeting moment, because Deimos would certainly be on his way to his next task, endeavor, meeting — or battle. Thus were the times.

The Forsaken waited until he heard the voice allowing him to enter. Once he did, he closed the heavy door behind him and took a deep breath before greeting the other man, matching blue eyes to blue eyes with all of the grief he held within him wrapped in a steely exterior.

I'm ready now, I'm not waiting for the other side

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Charcoal remained steadfast in his hand as his words flew off the page and flickered onto the parchment. More than once he paused, narrowing his eyes to study the draft, then started again, uncertain on the appropriate phrasing, if he was overstepping, or if it would all end to naught anyway. Too many things at stake all at once rendered at his spine, and for a moment or more he stared at the paper again, huffed and rolled his eyes, then set it aside.

He'd had visitors frequently for the past few hours; likely because of his travels, he hadn’t had opportunities to meet with others before his next sojourn. So it wasn’t a surprise when the Attuned bond shifted over him, though his brows furrowed with the complexity of the endeavor; the sentiments easily recognizable, even if they’d been very scarce in the past few seasons. “Come in,” he granted in his booming voice, before pondering over the circumstances, and what had happened this time…

For lately, it wasn’t often he was granted company without a portion of news or melancholy ventures or anything in between. His head tilting, he leaned back in his chair, studying the other approaching. “Noah,” was followed with a nod; brow arching and breaking over the otherwise stoic features.

DEIMOS

Noah

I'll let it burn the way the sunlight burns my skin
The way I feel inside, the way the day begins

Noah moved across the office until he was at one of the leather armchairs that Deimos kept for visits such as this. Chairs not unlike they sat in when they dethroned Morgan. But this was no such visit. No, Noah held too much respect for Deimos to ever want to see him in any other position than the one he held. ”Sorry for interrupting.” Noah said, chin jutting softly to indicate the — what he assumed — letters on the warden’s desk. ”I came when I got word that you were back from Torchline.” 

Noah was rigid in the chair, his palms pressed into his legs just above his kneecaps. Bags were dark and apparent under his eyes and he had a beard far longer than had been on his face since they returned from their exile all those years ago. He took a deep breath to help center himself, already feeling the lump threaten to form in his throat. ”After we cleansed the Greatwood, I wrote to you and told you I was going on a hunting trip.” Noah started, bringing up the letter to set the scene for how long it had been. ”Cordelia and I —“ He paused, swallowed, ”—we encountered the biggest white dragon I’ve ever seen. It was on us and attacking quicker than I could even react. I was knocked out and Cordelia was taken.” 

White hot tears stung his eyes, and the Forsaken blinked them away, unwilling to look up from the floor to the warden. ”When I woke up, I think weeks had passed. I went back to our lodge hoping that maybe she had been able to get away and she went home to our kids —“ He stopped again for a breath as a few tears escaped the dam of his eyelids and fell onto his lap, ”—she didn’t. I had to tell my kids, her parents. I then went back out to the tundra and I hunted for it.”

I'm ready now, I'm not waiting for the other side

and the only solution was to stand and fight

Deimos didn’t know what to expect from Noah. The last time he’d seen him had been seasons before; and even then, they’d been on barely speaking terms. Working for the sake of Halo, and nothing much more. Their close ties and friendship had been brutally assailed, and the Sword, bothered by the dramatics, theatrics, and easily negated issues with the Grounds, wasn’t certain what else to do but wait it out. Maybe the Forsaken would realize the mistakes in his own time. Maybe he wouldn’t, and they’d be left asunder.

Glancing up from the pile of paperwork, his brows furrowed, mind striving to decipher where all of this was going – watching as Noah sat, taking in the cool observations of roughened beards and exhaustion. Perhaps he’d been out hunting for some time – amidst the Greenwing with his family for the last few months. Rather than trying to work or predict it out further, he simply listened, nodding at the letter portions – but having received so many, it likely had been a side note.

Whatever his expectations had been, it wasn’t with white dragons, Noah being knocked out, and Cordelia taken. The series of dramatic events made his eyes widen, figuring something else would occur and unravel – the Attuned found, everyone back together –

But when it didn’t – weeks passed and lodge empty – the shock reeled through his system. Cordelia had always been capable. Perhaps sometimes a little overconfident, like during the war, but never to the point where she would’ve risked herself to such a degree. “I am sorry, I had - ,” no idea, really. He’d just figured they’d dispersed into the wilderness, as they did from time to time. That she was gone seemed like such a strange sentiment for his mind to bear, and after weeks of constant, ongoing news of failures and unravelings, his soul was numb. Gone back to the days of war when everything conspired around them at once, and all he could do was crawl inward, stare into the chaos as if it was a normal happenstance. “Did you find it?” Were they to have a funeral – so many days later?

DEIMOS

Noah

I'll let it burn the way the sunlight burns my skin
The way I feel inside, the way the day begins

He couldn’t stop the waves over the attuned bond. Not at this vulnerable state that he now let himself be in — a state only reserved for Deimos and Hotaru, at this point in his life. Not even Sah had felt these depths, seen him with the tears flowing freely and white-hot over his cheeks and dropping into his lap. 

The demigod nodded.

Noah swallowed down the boulder in his throat and the tears still burned his eyes as he pulled the remnant of her vibrant green cloak from his pocket, holding it in his palm for the Sword to see. It was unmistakable as hers — for the one-shot had had the cloak since before their exile, but used it exclusively in the colder season in King’s End. Then, his hand slipped back into his pocket and from it he pulled a few dragon fangs. The Forsaken placed them in Deimos’ sight just as he had done the remnant of her cloak. ”Mere hours before the fall of Longnight.”

He swallowed again, blinking and letting his eyes finally rise again to Deimos. ”I only survived the darkness because of the gods.” He only survived anything because of their grace and mercy — that was true — but in his grief and rage Vi had touched him (or Safrin, who was to say) as his soul unlocked that of a griffin. He lifted his chin slightly and to the left, to expose his neck, as a mixture of white hair and feathers covered it. 

”When the sun rose I tried to stop at the springs on my way home, but—“ He stopped, assuming that the warden already knew what had happened.

I'm ready now, I'm not waiting for the other side

and the only solution was to stand and fight

The sunken, tragic, and vulnerable slashings across the Attuned bond made him try desperately to find a way afloat the rampant river of emotions. He knew the deluge of heartbreak, death, demise, and the way that it all tore, beat, and bled anew; and had no yearnings to be trapped under its suffocating, overbearing weight again. Breathing steadily, trying to carve his nonchalance and raise the inner walls again, his own measures were tightly sealed, striving to regain some footing in this world that threatened to bash and slash every day. He wasn’t even sure what to offer Noah any longer. His friendship had been stretched to a paper thin void – were they in better circumstances, he might have stood and embraced the other man, tried to offer his strength and solace in this horrendous hour.

Instead, he swallowed down so much rancor and bile – memories of yesteryears in exile, of affable laughter as they wound their way through more and more horrors, depictions, and plans, and then stared down at dragon teeth and fangs. Cloaks. Fabrics and remnants of what Cordelia had been. “Do you want us to have a service for her?” He asked instead of the hundreds of other things – perhaps some contentment in that the Forsaken had been able to destroy the other beast. Maybe the cycle of vengeance had done its work. Maybe it wouldn’t matter in the interim; because it didn’t replace the One Shot. “How are the kids?” Having lost his own parents at a somewhat youthful age, he could imagine it was under the ‘not well’ category.

Then the springs. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “I know. I am sure you can figure out the culprits. My plans are to finish our void blocking for the Citadel, and then work on restoring the springs.”

DEIMOS

Noah

I'll let it burn the way the sunlight burns my skin
The way I feel inside, the way the day begins

He had never thought it possible to feel this hollow, even with all of the loss he had experienced in his life — for Halo had never been kind. The gods had mercy—he knew that, had felt it in the way they had spared his life when the darkness should have swallowed him whole. But there was no mercy in the ache within him, the way his soul yearned for its other half. ”I will host a wake.” It would be nothing of the large funerals they had known before, of gatherings of grief and cold understanding. But it would still honor her.

He ran a hand over his face, rough and calloused, as if he could scrub away the weight pressing down on him. It didn’t work. It never did. His fingers only found the wet tracks of salt. ”Getting better, I think, but there is no balm to heal them. Ravenna has gone to a shrine and aged, Marcus told me. Margot stopped eating for a while, but with help she’s starting to return to herself. Marcus he keeps himself focused and busy hunting with Cordelia’s dad.” They were all trying to do the best they could, and Noah was thankful for his in-laws for taking such good care of them. Noah’s eyes flicked to the floor for a moment, a wave of guilt washing over him. He didn’t rest their long, though, as words of Halo’s — Deimos’ — plans opened.

Noah let the words carve through him, let the frigid weight of them settle bone-deep. The void had been the destruction of the springs, and the demolition of much else that Noah would be learning in the coming days. His jaw feathered and the mix of fur and feathers on his neck puffed with the indignance of it. ”I know you have every position covered, but I am here again and can help where it is needed.” He said, sincerity laced in every word spoken with his raspy voice. He sniffed some, hand running over his cheeks again to remove the last remnants of his tears.

Once, Deimos had been a refuge, his mirror in strength and silence. A brother in arms even when their paths diverged. There had been a time when Noah could have sat beside him and let the quiet stretch between them, let it speak in ways neither of them needed words for. But now… it had been too long. Too much had been lost between them. Noah didn’t know what to say, but he yearned to bridge the gap — but he wasn’t sure he could withstand the weight of hoping only to discover there was nothing left to salvage between them. 

But gods, he wished—wished in the depths of his grief-stricken soul—that he could sit beside his friend and be seen. 

Noah had lost too much, and now sitting before the warden feeling like he was losing him all over again, he couldn’t take it.

Deimos— It came over the bond, too vulnerable and too difficult to speak into the air of the office, —I want to—I want to say that I am sorry. I am sorry for how I treated you when I was angry with Vi, with myself. It wasn’t— He paused for a moment as if his mental voice was catching on his heart in his throat like his physical voice, the emotions still rolling like waves over the bond, I can’t do this any more. You were my best friend — my brother—

I'm ready now, I'm not waiting for the other side

and the only solution was to stand and fight

He gave another nod; taking all the grief and solidarity, trying to keep himself out of its constant ache. Wakes and children, things they could utilize in some tangibility as another went to Mort’s Realm without a chance of other circumstances – of thoughts churning to eventual lanterns at the next Festival of Lights. He’d seen Ravenna, aged now. Margot unwell. Marcus occupying himself with things other than overbearing strife. Patterns amidst the circumstances reflected upon all of them – if it was one thing every Halovian seemed to know, it was tragedy. And then strength. But gods, sometimes it was far too much to bear.

Another deep breath forged across his lungs and he found himself capable of shielding much of the melancholy for other times – casting Noah’s name into one of the masses who’d be willing to take part in restoration purposes. “All right,” wondering if that would be too much still, if he was going to return to other duties, like Vi, and demigod demolition alongside brethren – especially as they ventured closer and closer to the depths of Starfall. Or perhaps that was a query for the future – when there were more solid foundations and time away from tragedies.

And he thought that would be all – acceptance, forbearance, and they’d keep going on as they had for what felt like eternities now. Quiet and solemn and completely disregarding everything they’d built. Deimos wasn’t one to grant too many chances and opportunities, not when they’d been spit back in his face on revolving doors and incomprehensible decisions. The potency of his good will lasted until another ensured they didn’t feel the same, or intended to utilize it in some other heinous capacity; and Noah’s had been severed once he’d refused to take accountability for his own actions. Most of which could’ve easily sewn discontent and malice between two regions., had it not for clearer minds prevailing. He’d told the Forsaken as much. In multiple capacities. For it to have fallen on naught but anger and abhorrence, and layers of now steeled resolve.

So there was no expectation of the sudden vulnerability battering at the bond; his brow arching as he glanced up from another paper. The last thing he would’ve ever presumed to come from Noah was an apology. Narrowing his eyes, Deimos wondered if it was worth it – to cross these pathways again, to see if there was more comprehension amidst years of turmoil and mistakes. Neither I, nor Danta for that matter, deserved your ire. But they’d been treated as such. Things could’ve been so much easier, so much simpler, had cooler prevalence taken shape. Do you understand why we were displeased? Why we cannot afford to be fighting amidst our regions?

DEIMOS

Noah

I'll let it burn the way the sunlight burns my skin
The way I feel inside, the way the day begins

I do. Was all he said across the bond in response, the sincerity and genuine meaning laced deep in each uttered syllable.

Noah didn’t have much left. 

Everything he’d ever held onto had been taken—ripped from his grasp, swallowed by war, by the darkness, by the gods’ own will. His parents, his brother, his wife. Friends whose names still caught in his throat when he tried to speak them aloud. All gone. 

But his children. Sah. Hotaru. But Deimos— 

Noah’s fingers twitched, aching to reach for something, for some anchor in the storm raging in his chest. He rubbed his palms down the tops of his thighs as he leaned back some and pressed his back hard into the leather chair. He had lost so much already—

Deimos was still here, still within reach, and Noah refused to let fate—let himself—strip him of someone he wasn’t ready to lose—again. He uttered a breathe, shaky and full of all the emotional tempest still churning within him. I can’t lose anyone else, Dei. You’re still here, and I can’t stand to lose you again.

I'm ready now, I'm not waiting for the other side

and the only solution was to stand and fight

The Sword didn’t often grant acquittals. He was not a merciful beacon of clemency. He didn’t pardon. He didn’t exonerate. Once someone erred upon him, his family, or his region, it was often lost altogether. Trust broken and severed; like lifelines and spilled blood, rarely a being who would settle for the same wounds more than once. So he glanced at Noah now with an air of consideration, wondering if he should bother. If it was worth bringing the walls down again. If the pleas were only because the losses had scaled, increased, and accrued, and now the Forsaken was at the crossroads of things he’d built and toppled on his own. It was a cold thought; but sometimes that was what Deimos was – guarded, reserved, and withdrawn from the pieces that had slashed at him before.

There were hordes of individuals who would’ve welcomed all the burden and plights and erased the mistakes, the marred portions, the lacerations from their mind. He wasn’t one of them – because in the worlds where he’d been raised, that would’ve been a death knell. Noah hadn’t cared before – too lost in his anger or frustration or accountability – and whether it was the passing of time or the loss of so many other things, the Sword seemed to be one of the figments and fragments that remained. Better people than himself could’ve let the demigod in without the slightest hesitation.

I cannot promise forgiveness. Not after everything. Not after all this time. He started, honest and forthright in Noah’s tempestuous tide of emotions – solid and stone in the wake of those parallels. But we have always worked better as allies and friends. He took a long, deep breath again, the frustration and unknown an irritant in his bones. I can try – but it will take me awhile. And perhaps that was the best he’d be able to offer, for now.

DEIMOS

Noah

I'll let it burn the way the sunlight burns my skin
The way I feel inside, the way the day begins

The words cut—clean, but not cruel. 

Noah swallowed hard, the tension in his chest loosening just enough to let breath pass through. Not forgiveness—but not rejection either.

He nodded slowly, the motion stiff with all he didn’t say. He’d take awhile. He’d take trying. He’d take anything that wasn’t silence, anything that meant Deimos was still here, still reaching through the wreckage of what they’d once been. 

Because after everything—after loss, after ruin—this felt like the first thread of something that could still be salvaged. 

And gods, Noah would hold onto it with both hands.

”Then that is all I can ask.” Noah said. He took in a deep breath and stood, extending his hand out towards Deimos as a sign and confirmation of where they were right now. ”I’ll be back and forth between here and the Greatwood, helping in all ways I can. For now, I need to get back to my kids.”

Even though it hurt, still, there was a spark — the tiniest ember — of hope. 

FIN

I'm ready now, I'm not waiting for the other side