DEIMOS
At her comment, he obliged her with a nod – listening to her explanations, to the ways in which the luxere worked, why they didn’t linger around those of their ilk. Pure of heart, mind, and soul, something he and Kiada were anything but, not with incantations, not with the bodies laid between their convictions. Deimos had orchestrated death and demise on too many occasions with too little regret; slashing life out of another for either kingdom, country, or kin, treacherous anarchy in the wake and brandishing of protection. Merciless, ruthless, and ravenous, plunging sword or draining life, utterly indifferent to the consequences, to collapsing lungs, to final heartbeats. They’d been adversaries. They’d been enemies. They’d been means to an end, finality prospered on airs and ethers of vengeance and retribution. But Auni, who cared for both of them, was an altered from his own species – Isla’s death reshaping his existence. The monolith, the mountain, stewed in silence, drifting along the wind, pondering over their endeavors, the flicker of sheen and shine still in the distance. Perhaps they weren’t aware of them yet, hadn’t given into flight mode and paths. Instead of anything else, of diving into how they weren’t ever going to be virtuous, unflawed souls, a certainty stoked through him, on a flap of wings, on the plume of feathers. Then he is lucky to have you.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
