DEIMOS
Dares and provocations, some deep-rooted pinnacle of how he lived his life, of how the world scalded him out of his reserve and nonchalance: to give him challenges, to grant him instigation. His wings were pistons and his strength was in his their grasping lines and plumes as he ascended once more, not as swift as the downward spiral, but still keen, still brutal, still every inch a barbaric predator, feasting on the skies, on the wind, on the merciless eaves, instead of prey. Maybe the world was his quarry and he simply hadn’t feasted enough. Maybe the world would pummel him into pieces again, and he’d be as worthless as scattered bones.Kiada won but he didn’t care; noble crown shifting in a perceptible nod towards her victory as talons clutched over the Spire’s refrain once more. A circle of triumph and ruin, portals and poison, Vi’s roses and the beating, bleeding ways of their errors. Too many meanings in one building. Too many notions along one threshold.
His eyes watched as Adam managed a running start this time, and the eagle followed, extending his feathers again, a descending, circular rotation, everything rushing, rushing, rushing, and they were impervious heathens, powerful and potent; a stretch of pride tipping the scales of his attuned bond.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
