DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The beast shrugged at Ronin’s apology; no offense meant or taken, just some infernal acceptance now. A contortion to him would always be frustrated and exasperated that he hadn’t been there for other changes, movements, and upheavals along Helovia’s reign; but it had been out of his hands, out of his existence, pressing in on recreation and resurrection along other lands. He hadn’t exactly made it a secret either, just like many other things, he simply hadn’t expressed it to anyone except those close. A majority of them had known anyway, had borne witness, and the notion caused his brows to furrow only slightly, before his gaze slid back to Ronin, backing away to give him space to move along the corridor, then following in the tread, beckoned, invited to continue. He strung along in vivid silence again, listening to Ronin’s explanation of things beyond and what he grasped now – for the Sword it was less invasions and plotting, more instrumental actions, a building and stoking of relationships and accord he couldn’t remember ever having and holding, cherishing, in Helovia’s berth. There’d been too much blood, too much loss, too much disaster, everything fleeting, fleeting, fleeting, gone within an instant. Perhaps it could’ve been the same here, had it not been for Rexanna, Amalia, Kiada, and the rest who continued to surround him (a family of sorts), not allow him to dig deeper into the shadows or darkness –
His head reared back up, blinking rapidly at Ronin’s inquiry, eyes widening; if he hadn’t gained some modicum of control again, his jaw might have even gone slack. Instead, a resistant, defiant little snort pulsed its way through his chest, gaze narrowing once more, uncertain if he was being mocked. Judging by Ronin’s smirk, it wasn’t an innocent gesture; he fought off the notion to sneer or return the gesture with a volley of his own. His brow quirked upwards, the slightest softening of features, less stone, more alive, though his tone remained flat. “It has not been discussed.” At any point, at any time; frankly, no thoughts had ever occurred or sprung along his cranium about it, and it hadn’t been a conversation piece with Amalia. They were usually too busy trying not to die, bearing responsibility for a thousand other things, or striving, struggling, through the next onslaught. Those of another bonded accord, like the Harpy, were enough to keep track of.
Unite and spread the heart apart
