DEIMOS
Deimos rarely shared his dreams with anyone; coined them into ambitions, into aspirations, into darker threads of where he’d traverse, travel, or sink his intentions. Often, the objectives had been hardhearted, simple, or amidst the savage: protect, defend, or die trying, bestial formations, blade and cutlass insinuations, a hiss, a growl, a roar, a bellow into the void, daring the world to come and defy him. Helovia had been a place of ensuring kingdoms and sovereignties surged and triumphed over others, and he’d guarded, he’d exploited, he’d churned, he’d burned. Isilme had been a world of constant warfare and bleaker outsets, sputtering rage and vitriol on every side, and he’d learned how to wield munitions and weaponry long before he’d ever thought what his singular objectives might’ve been. They’d become immersed into conquest, into carving an adversary’s insides, into bludgeoning, devastating, and ruining. They’d become synonymous with a crown, restricted and bound by what the rest of his country had craved (violence, vehemence, vengeance – repose, rue, and regrets). Not once, in all his journeys across vast realms, had he been capable of peering beyond mountains, of seeing beyond fault lines or catacombs. Or the precious beacon of freedom.
No ties, no tethers, no lines, no drawn, sketched enigmas in the sand – he was beyond earth, into the sky, beast, beast, beast in all his glory, wings outstretched and the world below left far behind. He could soar until his muscles ached, until his body gave in, until his mind and eyes and denizens had seen, experienced enough (and who was to say that it would – greedy and rapacious, devouring and consuming, eager to plunge headlong into the stark, open air).
The darkness called and crawled, a veil, a shroud, and he blended into its ministrations, distant, hazy lights of fires and lanterns blinking back – and then just Amalia’s pale outline, reflecting like snow against the backdrop, the canvas, the tapestry of endless possibilities. She circled him as they climbed and soared, and emotions, sentiments, that weren’t his own kept clambering back to him, buffeting, like light touches and fringes of another unknown chime. His head tilted, still bewildered by shapes, by formations, by everything else, ignorant to the ways of these opuses and oeuvres – but they seemed to be her - the singsong laughter, the admiration, the amusement scattered along his mind like stars and galaxies.
Was this how the Attuned communicated?
Deimos wasn’t sure how to prosper or provide it correctly – still a piece of stone, a molten monolith of rubble, tucked into shells and walls, accustomed to emoting nothing when he was in complete, utter control. But for her? And here? He loosened the hold on his own merriment, allowed it to glide on their plumage, on connections and bonds, billowing and pulsing, pervading and presiding, and he’d been too distracted in its properties to notice the quelling of mischief beneath the drumbeats of hearts and lungs.
Until she ascended, whisking higher and higher, and he pondering about following, about tracing into the clouds and flickering like a black hole; except then she seemed to be coming down, like a plummeting, ivory rock, and if eagles were capable of snorting, he’d done just that, winding his way on jagged lines as he sensed his body suddenly becoming a damned target; chased, hunted, the feeling not settling into fear, but play, ridiculous and juvenile and likely exactly what they needed.
There was laughter in the sky as she brushed upon him, his surprise slowing him down, her smaller frame capable of swifter, fleeter tactics, the first words piercing and passing through their bond was tag, and instead of shaking his head, an inward growl was all he could summon. He allowed it to settle in the links; a chiseled formation of predator aplomb and glee, descending, diving after her, her cackles, her ivory feathers, a designated goal – extending his wings further and further, reaching and reaching in a demonic press , a zealous whisper, a scorch of devilry, as he silently coasted on the moonlit breeze, tag conjured back upon her while they darted into woods and groves.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
