remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
Hope, not something Deimos thrived upon, but understood for its measures and yearning, longing entanglements. So they were alike in those regards – men from oceans, even if the Sword’s soul had been mustered into mountains thereafter, as if he were a part of the ice and glacial expanses itself, but the sea had always been the start, always been the genesis of dreams of power, of aspirations and ambitions. The slightest smile formed along his mouth again, at some portions hidden behind his glass as he drank and swallowed and allowed the burning, churning alcohol rumble down into his presence. Flooding seasons, slipping away to spend time in places he shouldn’t have been; characteristics unsurprising, from what little he’d gathered from the man. Then the notion turned back to him, and he lowered the resin, piercing slate coiling back to Sunjata. “I was born beside one. The Moonlit Tides, in Isilme.” It was with a hint of pride, of assurances and fervency laden beside those shoals and dunes, of damp sand pressed between toes and racing across their potent roots – and then, because attuned connections were still something complex and engaging, but something he’d openly embraced, the beast sent the other pieces and pictures of a world long since lost to him. The lunar stretch and expanse across the rolling current, the gulls flying high along the ceremonial shore, the sound of the waves imploring and beseeching the stretch of a swimmer’s arms, the pulse, the beat, the roar of power and regard under the wake of fathoms; no glassy vestiges here, not in the brewing, brooding tempest, in the beatific quandaries of endless precision. A first home, a first shelter, a first sanctuary; gone too, only lingering in glimpses and fragments. “Perhaps there is a portal out there,” he shrugged, another opportunity sprawled somewhere in the midst.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
