DEIMOS
Deimos shrugged; one more press on his shoulders, one more thing he’d strive to take responsibility for – people, places, things, a colossal fortress until even he sunk. He willingly took more and more on, and wouldn’t hold it against anyone if he toppled, if he fell, beneath the cumbersome weight he’d chosen to consecrate along the breadth of his potency and power. And while the capricious, mercurial outlooks didn’t coincide with the siren call of the mountains, for now echoing against his skull, he could wait, he could be patient, he could stoke on outlines and predacious efforts; stare into the variability and orchestrate means, foundations. How long had he remained in its stead, without the presence of summits, except in distant hazes, memories, and in the midst of slumber? This was one more test, one more challenge.His piercing gaze locked back onto Remi as he told of his plans – control (a thing to grasp tightly, clench, never let go once it’d been captured, maintained), a space for a say in his own life, a direction, a shift, away from the cold-blooded contortions of yesteryears. The Sword granted his own slightly boyish smile, no airs of mischief, but contentment for Remi’s choices, decisions, that he should be able to ensue and direct his own paths. “Sounds like freedom.” A beatific liberation, deliverance, perhaps one of the more providential things citizens could grant themselves; to aspire, to slide ambition into something more than where they’d come from, permission from nothing and no one. Superiority, a master-class toiling for themselves, and for those they cherished. May you find your way he pressed through attuned bonds, because if any of them deserved the opportunity, it was the alchemist.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
