I'm getting tired of starting again

Deimos Morning routines changed and altered considerably from the course of Fiat Lux’s events: still rising early, still maneuvering before the sun rose, but it was without fixtures, until he made his way towards the infirmary, and then threaded between guildhalls and barracks thereafter. It was a constant moving forward, nearly hellbent on not sinking, not tracing his way along fathoms and depths, not attempting to wallow, to seethe, to fall straight back into melancholy. Action and response, response and action, footfalls following one after the other, traces of foundations and formidable reaches he could always grasp hold, tether a line towards, formulate in the thick of their sorrows. A routine, a habit, even now, as his sword slashed towards the intended target. The straw and reeds hissed at his dedicated strike, at the rise of the argent blade into its softening surface, parting, cutting way through newly assembled limbs. It was exact and precise, honed from days of such inherent training he could likely commit the same actions in his sleep – listen to the beats of war blasting in his ears, in his flesh, in his bones, entangled and immersed in their tempestuous riches. Again and again, accords ringing through the bowels and innards of the poor individual (bound to be re-stitched and repaired thereafter), concentration pinpointed on power and meticulousness (shifting in and amongst the scars of the festival too; where they all could’ve done more). When the target had been stripped apart, another casualty, Deimos began to pick up the pieces, gaze fixating on the damage, where he could’ve lacerated deeper, stronger, ferocious might instilled in the backdrop of the potent annihilation. Only on the sounds of another approaching the training yard did his attention finally deviate from his task, pulling back the wild threads of his mane, swinging his head towards whomever else deigned to use their grounds. He was surprised to see Maea – not a ghost, not a wraith, not a specter, but alive and whole, amongst the conflagration of weaponry and brutality. It was an out of place notion, one that made him blink several times, before tracing back to the last time he might’ve seen or spoken to her. “Maea,” the beast announced, rumbling assertions and vocals across the cast soil. “What brings you here?” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime