DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
He went back to stirring the grouse as the steam rose and the meat hissed, ensuring it was still cooking evenly, before addressing anything else – mind in multiple directions, alternating courses in the comfortable atmosphere. The god approach had always been intriguing: his family hadn’t been overly pious, their deities bent towards more hate and contempt, a blend of abhorrence amidst the living. It didn’t do him much good when he approached shrines or altars, begging for another’s life, completely, utterly ignored, starting him down towards a path of more reticence, more sedition, more unholy vigor. Helovia’s hadn’t been amidst his consideration either: the Time God sizzling and sparking in their midst, summoned when necessary, but he was otherwise away from that sanction too, leaving the trusted oracles to contemplate and muse with their creator. It’d been indifference from the start – so it made sense that they, no matter the celestial being, twisted into the same faction. He wasn’t worth their time or effort. But Amalia’s reverence had always been there, kindled and cultivated from a young age. What was it like – to have faith in other things besides one’s self? He’d always adhered to his own strength, to his own brutality, to his own ruses and schemes. Credence and conviction in a higher power was something else altogether, and since he’s remained here, his opinion on the matter hadn’t been altered or swayed. He relied on himself, on his friends, on his comrades, but never swore allegiance to the sway of the omnipotent. “Mine did not have much use for the gods,” he shrugged, as if that explained everything – the moments scattered at random, the defiance and sedition, irreverence conditioned straight into his bones.But his stories were not finished either – he could almost hear her mulling over the topic, pondering what to make of it. The Reaper was nowhere closer to answers for his variety of inquiries: the hows, the whys, the whens, the wheres, but had nearly accepted it for what it was: a mystery, an enigma, another alteration and bizarre enmity caught in oblivion. Perhaps he’d been lucky, chosen to forge a new path, to deviate from the route he’d always chosen (destroy, rip, tear, massacre), but there had to be more to it than that.
But maybe the questions had been enough – since they’d led him to her.
Deimos almost snorted, only arching a brow instead when Amalia picked over a detail she’d must’ve missed in the entirety of the conversation, too much to absorb and savor. “Yes.” He confirmed with a nod, blue eyes roaming away from the grouse and back to the baker. He nearly wrinkled his nose, another boyish, youthful interlude, but caught himself, drawing his lips into a thin line instead. “The timelines are a little skewed there too.” He frowned, folded his arms back over his chest, as if he regretted some sanctions of advice and sagacity. “I encouraged Kiada to reunite with Rexanna. Have a discussion.” He winced a little, thinking of the potential for so many things to go wrong there. “They had a falling out some time ago.”
Unite and spread the heart apart
