[seasonal event] arise from the dust

Deimos The notion that Zariah was there, in the midst of something great, grand, and glimmers of the past, was an irritating, vexing thing. It wasn’t going to stop him – very few moments or people would - but it remained as an irksome venture in the back of his mind, memories of the summer before heightening and coiling along his mind. They’d all had their fair share of scheming, of tactics, of Machiavellian diatribes, tucked away in a basement, plotting disaster, ruin, and sedition, before more and more seconds, instances, and snippets fell apart, unwinding, unfurling pinnacles of the unknown from every corner, from every sanction. They’d been rid of her perhaps through luck, or as it was now, some other orchestrated device. His focus chiseled its way to the clouds again, but the conviction, the promise, the pledge, the vow, sparked and sizzled along the searing of his tongue; a proclamation the girl would eternally understand. “She has her ways. But we have ours.” They wouldn’t be conquered again. If Kiada had any inquiries about Illynx, she didn’t share them; Deimos had a wealth of knowledge on the formidable woman, and while they’d frequently out-stubborned, exasperated, and brought out contemptuous wrath upon one another, they’d also worked in tandem for the Basin – strength and fortitude and might. She simply hadn’t wanted him standing in Psyche’s place. Another catastrophic emblem in the series and cycles of Basin legends. He only smirked at her teasing, shrugging, accepting the nuances and remarks, because they were true and he had no intention of fighting them off, snorting only at her insinuation of too many flowers. If he could wear an abundance of petaled-crowns (and never with the weight of a kingdom), she could endure too. “We shall find even more for you then.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime