fine in the fire

Deimos Incompatible magic; he’d never heard of such a thing. It was a disconcerting notion, suddenly stuck there in perilous situations, incapable of beseeching and immersing himself deep into treachery without the threat of death ringing its ugly head down upon him again. It meant he had to be careful. It meant that he was caged. It meant he was trapped, snared, and tethered – having to think about his own safety and livelihood, rather than the missions unfolding, than the looming threats, than the treachery and upheaval resonating. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He detested it. But it wasn’t Vai’s fault – and at least they’d discovered it now, before he was on his deathbed, breathing his last because of some mortal wound to his gut; going out on ridiculousness instead of an onslaught on the battlefield. He hung his head, nodded, roaming over the newest information. He didn’t have anything to say though; accepted, resisted, pondered if there was a way around it, or he was eternally stuck in that abandoned clause. But the healer had other remedies for his burn, and he lifted his eyes to watch her gather materials, going from cupboard to cupboard, drawer to drawer, examining the things she’d collected. His own Menders had things similar, once, if their powers weren’t necessary, for little cuts, little scrapes, little bruises, little burns. He’d have to be diligent in their prowess and potential, since he had no doubt he’d be hurt again in some other dangerous display. As for more scars, that was fine too – and the edges of his mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles. “It will be in good company.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime