Deimos
The monolith never had intentions of being suffocating towards kin. Perhaps he’d draw intimidating lines and asphyxiating prowess along enemies’ reaches and inclinations, but not to those trusted, not to those guarded. He wasn’t always so overbearing and sheltering – once let them all thrive and burst from the seams of their chilling world, encouraging them to conquer, to pummel, to unleash their broadening havoc upon the rest of the void – in the name of icy banners and elements, in the shadows of their mountains and unattainable horizon. But then he’d lost, he’d lost, he’d lost, anyone and everyone, through his own death and then another burdensome cycle of beasts encased in flame, then diminished to shadows and dust, to sepulchers and tombs, to sinking steps and then nothing at all. It inspired a fear in him that never used to exist: terror, anxiety, and trepidation for those beloved, and it was why, in these moments, he said nothing. Were he to permit a loosening of his jaw, he would implore some double-standard, some hypocritical oath, some lowly stature he didn’t want to stand upon.
So in his hushed ramparts, in his quiet acceptance, he brandished some semblance of freedom that truly wasn’t his to give or prosper – and instead, maybe a tarnished confidence that she’d be able to do it. She was strong. She was capable. She was fire. She was belligerence.
Deimos just didn’t want her gone, vanished and vanquished.
The Harpy was braver still to amplify her efforts into Ludo’s quest, and he tilted his head towards her for a series of seconds, looking up briefly between knotting chainmail and armor for her shoulders in the gilded, hallowed light. “I understand,” was all he could surmise, his eyes narrowing as he stared at patchworks of iron and metal, pondering if he’d be able to segment such a feat, if he could cool his blood long enough to become someone so detached, someone so apathetic, that ghosts of his brethren would be extinguished by his own hands, by his own blade. Could he have felled Huyana? Could he have bludgeoned his father, his mother, or any other constituent? Or would he have fallen to his knees on such a promise, inept and ineffectual, not daring to watch them fall to pieces again? “You will.” It was confidence in her, a broken piece in the tension, his stare not going to her, not now, not when he was stitching stalwart enterprises meant to protect and shield.
So in his hushed ramparts, in his quiet acceptance, he brandished some semblance of freedom that truly wasn’t his to give or prosper – and instead, maybe a tarnished confidence that she’d be able to do it. She was strong. She was capable. She was fire. She was belligerence.
Deimos just didn’t want her gone, vanished and vanquished.
The Harpy was braver still to amplify her efforts into Ludo’s quest, and he tilted his head towards her for a series of seconds, looking up briefly between knotting chainmail and armor for her shoulders in the gilded, hallowed light. “I understand,” was all he could surmise, his eyes narrowing as he stared at patchworks of iron and metal, pondering if he’d be able to segment such a feat, if he could cool his blood long enough to become someone so detached, someone so apathetic, that ghosts of his brethren would be extinguished by his own hands, by his own blade. Could he have felled Huyana? Could he have bludgeoned his father, his mother, or any other constituent? Or would he have fallen to his knees on such a promise, inept and ineffectual, not daring to watch them fall to pieces again? “You will.” It was confidence in her, a broken piece in the tension, his stare not going to her, not now, not when he was stitching stalwart enterprises meant to protect and shield.
i rule the stars, not the other way around
