DEIMOS
They believe nothing can reach us
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
And pull us out of the boundless gloom
So it went – dark, water from a mire, and a form in the shadows, unmoving and still, all of their actions too little, too late. He’d seen it before, just never in quite the same way, known faces blurring familiarity, recognizing figures when they were standing, when they were breathing, when they were alive, maneuvering things gesturing, in action, in eloquence. The boy had spear-headed fire and vitriol, and it seemed odd to witness him as he was in those feral, silent moments, shades of pale, his words etched into the wall, a bitter, rancorous edge to their existence – had they been there sooner, had they been there faster.
It didn’t matter. Ronin’s proclamation was enough for him to hang his head, saying and signifying nothing. He’d buried enough comrades to understand what came next – the anguish, the despair, the drum beats of nothingness contorting at their frayed ends, a descent into either abyss or funeral pyres. He bore silence and adhered to Ronin’s requests, eyes lingering on Remi as he created, a stretcher cast and canvas melded between boughs, making their job easier for an effort that was never simple. Barely a whisper passed in between, but he took to his role seriously, listening to Roana’s directions, lifting on the last, gaze shifting back and forth from the hollowed passages and to the world up ahead; listening to Jigano’s prayers, beacons that could reach gods or flicker off of the walls.
It didn’t matter. Ronin’s proclamation was enough for him to hang his head, saying and signifying nothing. He’d buried enough comrades to understand what came next – the anguish, the despair, the drum beats of nothingness contorting at their frayed ends, a descent into either abyss or funeral pyres. He bore silence and adhered to Ronin’s requests, eyes lingering on Remi as he created, a stretcher cast and canvas melded between boughs, making their job easier for an effort that was never simple. Barely a whisper passed in between, but he took to his role seriously, listening to Roana’s directions, lifting on the last, gaze shifting back and forth from the hollowed passages and to the world up ahead; listening to Jigano’s prayers, beacons that could reach gods or flicker off of the walls.
They're wrong
