remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
The Sword considered hope fragile, too fine, too easily erased and broken apart – he’d rather chisel and sculpt his way through sands and storms and bloodshed, a ferocity and veracity shattering anything in his path. It’d been the same on the battlefield, on the leagues and fathoms of ice and rime, on the contortions of shores and embankments. Ambition cut and slashed its way through his veins so prominently that there was rarely anything else to instigate his incantations – other than family, other than loved ones – usually turning a blind eye to a deity’s capabilities or ministrations. He believed in his abilities, and when they buckled, when they swayed, when they frayed, he dug in further, honing and gaining strength, practicing prowess, precision, and carrying on, tenacious, obstinate, and irreverent all over again. Deimos had never started with hope, and hadn’t ended with it either – everything had been fury, malice, menace, and then quiet, in the curl and coil of his rainy demise, final breaths and heartbeats in the showers, in the cascades, in the uprooting of an ocean come to bring him home.“It was.” And never could be again; not the same, and he shrugged away those bitter coils bounding past his feral aspirations. But he hadn’t craved them, not in the same way he’d pined for the mountains and summits, for the peaks glorified in auroras, for the shape and shift of time’s jagged, serrated hands. They’d already gone back and forth along its reaches, investigating and exploring when they had the opportunity, when the world wasn’t lifting or carrying or dragging them back to other missions and upheavals. His fingers played with the now empty glass, bounding it back and forth between the digits. “Have you been to the mountains yet?” The newest portal; and they were already clambering for another, covetous, rapacious, and avaricious.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
