who we are and all that we're trying to be
Deimos couldn’t help himself, snorting and shaking his head again at the pun – it had earned that much at least. But after their discussion, it seemed the end was near, tracing over the foundations of why he’d come, all the other burdens, decisions, obligations, and tasks surrounding the ether. “Perhaps,” he answered, placing Amalia’s staff and the bag of powder into his sack, ensuring they were closed for the notions he had ahead.
“Thank you,” he extended once more, because he was always grateful for the alchemist’s time, to relay back and forth over the nuances, the happenstances, and all the other occurrences surrounding them. Remi had sagacity, tied and tethered in his magic, and Deimos was foreign to such acclaim, except in the realm of death and war.
Then, before he truly vanished, he extended his promise, transforming once more – an assemblage of wings and feathers, tawny, sienna, and bright, illustrious patterns, hooking the bag along his talons – and searing a picture, a portrait, a tapestry towards the other hybrid.
The mountains were glorious, just the way he remembered them; sacred and beatific, a sanctum, a sanctuary, a blessed, blissful world in the cold, in the eternity of winter, in an Elysium for refugees and wrathful, blistering beasts. They rose into the heavens and basked in a swirl of colors, constellations blinking down, and they were larger, grander, than the stars. They slid into hell’s wake and picked it apart, alive and ignited by the blended hues and colors of the auroras, blues and pinks and greens and anything else the world could summon to trace over foundations, over power, over prestige. The Aurora Basin, he provided, all the notes and sensations of pride flickering over his senses too, bounding, bounding, bounding, so the images wouldn’t always just collect dust in his mind, in his memories.
At the end, when he had nothing more to show, he took flight, soundless, lifting off into the void, maybe we will see them again tied into the strands.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
