sidereus

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The Sword was eternally hesitant to approach shrines; no matter previous circumstances, efforts, upheavals, and successes, he almost presumed the worst. His bones hadn’t been merged into deity requiems and strains, been built instead on faith and belief in one’s self, in his own actions, in his own merits, in his own abilities, and the strength of others. How they’d come together. How they’d endure. How they’d persevered.

But failures reigned hard, from previous intervals, from unwinding seasons, from the cycle of another to approach. Too many had been lost already, and the latest had just been a stark reminder of how they were never truly prepared. He’d tried in the previous winter, presided in efforts to oversee with the rest of the militia, with those willing to help, and still, it hadn’t really mattered.

So, perhaps it was time for some guidance.

Nothing else to turn to, he wandered across the familiar plains, the earth orchestrated for the goddess’ sanctity. Zuriel followed close behind, and his eyes flickered to the sights and sounds of yesteryears – properties formed by their abilities, ashamed that he couldn’t produce something so harmonious, so beautiful now. Instead, the invocations pulsed and waned between his hands as he kneeled before the shrine, as Zuriel stood along his side, as a metallic mirror formed, small, marked and carved in stars, and he placed it along the ground. To be accepted or ignored again. “Safrin,” he whispered, the words barely invoked towards outlines of setting suns, of grasping starlight. “I would like to speak to you about LongNight.”

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

safrin

"What a lovely thing." The goddess murmurs softly, her dark gaze upon the mirror. 'The reflection of course, not the topic of LongNight, I mean." She clarified with a small whisper of laughter. Dressed in a long white gown, Safrin looked like a starlit ghost as she leaned back against the rocky hovel that not so long ago Deimos had helped make.

Her eyes took in the Sword with silent speculation for a moment, before her head tilted to the side. All the dark and dusted thoughts in his mind that she might pluck, but still she preferred to hear the words from his own lips. "What is it you would speak with me about?"

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Another surprise; that she came at all, too used to the days where he was either mocked or ignored for his attempts. He maneuvered back, standing at Zuriel’s side as the mare nodded, bowed her head in greeting to the goddess. Safrin’s compliment, and subsequent joke, left him blinking, then snorting, allowing the smallest of amusements to be released. His cranium tilted, regarding, ghosts and stars, leaning against the shrine, granting him an audience again. “Thank you for listening,” he stated at first, one hand intertwining along Zuriel’s long mane, untangling, keeping restless movements busy.

His eyes went to her as his thoughts drummed up the angles and interpretations, the experiences they’d wrought and wreaked upon themselves. “I was wondering if there were other ways to repel the LongNight monsters.” The beast was aware of the luxere and their light, their powers, and they’d utilized the herd as best they could. There was always Amalia’s staff too – but only the one, and thought it was certainly protective, it could only go so far. Relying upon singular entities wasn’t a grand design, and he had every intention of avoiding the disastrous wake of the previous LongNight – where his fire ended up having to bring down the entire guild, the demons forcing them to flee, and deaths still there, hanging in the air. “We prepared last year, with less than stellar results.” The monsters had still come in – though with the open-door policy, it had been a likely threat. Or was there a way to stop, cease, them altogether? Wouldn’t Naturals have tried it all before? It was a frustrating aspect, and as the General, he sought more methods, more designations, to presume a stronger, mightier threshold for those deigned to stay.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

safrin

Reaching out to softly stroke the mare's shoulder, Safrin smiled secretively at the dark creature. She did so love unicorns.

'You divided, is what you did.' The goddess interjected, crossing her arms as she leaned easily and elegantly. 'Tell me Deimos...Other than it being a bit of an annoyance to stay inside, what is it that everyone finds so difficult about it all? Keeping doors closed, not answering the calls of whatever wayward creature beckons to you..." Her eyes narrow slightly, thoughtfully. "I am always amazed at the might of you mortals to rally in the face of almost certain loss, and yet I can't help but wonder why it is you don't simply give up certain battles. No one ever asks for ways to dig under the earth to be protected, but instead try and defeat the monsters outside. Is a week really so much to endure?"

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Zuriel, pleased with the attention, positively preened throughout Deimos’ pending lecture. For what it was worth, the Sword didn’t shy away from the sagacity or chiding, for he felt it was more than an annoyance, a restless irritation, that every winter there were scores of people left to be consumed by demons. That it was just accepted. That it was just something that happened. Natural, for the world to seethe and simmer outside their doors. His tones weren’t irreverent, calm, steady, stoic, stalwart, but his gaze didn’t hold onto hers, flicking back down to the ground, attempting to piece together explanations. “Because people are still dying.” Like Cera – warned, and vanquished, the Golden Prince left lying out in the void.

Even if they hadn’t divided, split themselves apart, would it have mattered? Would it just have been a similar pattern to the previous year, cycles and cycles and cycles of fools continuing to run around in the dark? The Sword lifted his head back to her then, shook it softly. “Not fight, just repel. To keep them away.” Better structures, better sanctuaries, then just not opening doors. No semblance in mauling his way within the storm either; he could recall Rexanna’s wounded, battered body, just from asking the monsters, the demons, meant to be once part of the Ascended legion. Kiada’s hurt form, body and soul, when she couldn’t complete her quest. He’d had no intentions of battering his way through the ilk; flying alongside Remi and feeling their pull, their claws, their sharpened edges had been enough.

Perhaps it was mortal inclinations to strive, to attempt to protect, to want to cease and desist a variety of horrendous, treacherous, terrifying endings. To ensure there were no knocks on the door, beckoning tricks and traps to willing souls. But that’s what he was, and always would be; perishable, corporeal, tangible, desperate to guard those in his care. Not unlike the Basin, the Hollowed Grounds was his home; earning his penchant for safeguarding, for protecting, for trying.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

safrin

"People always die. Especially when they go out during LongNight." Safrin says with a shrug. "For decades the naturals have survived LongNight, but limiting noise and light, and bedding down for the week. Not unlike animals who hibernate to save themselves from the chill of winter. This isn't a natural predator, but the ways to keep oneself safe seem the same."

Silence. Stillness. Darkness.

"I'm not sure what help I can offer that you haven't thought of already. We cannot be in the Grounds during LongNight as you well know by now. Staying together in one place should alleviate the need of your people to go back and forth...though I suppose you could always institute some sort of communication system?" Safrin shrugs. "Stronger doors, blocking windows...all of these things are within your ability to do. But so long as doors are opened and the needs of the few overtake the needs of the many, there will be more deaths."

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The sensation of apathy and nonchalance towards the continued deaths came across in her shrug, and his frame remained much in the same stead: composed, stoic, while his thoughts spiraled along in their customary machinations. He was once that way too – indifferent towards the measure of demise around him – unless they were his own.

So he breathed and listened, nodding, absorbing the information she had to offer. It wasn’t anything new, which had been his reason for coming. But if the gods couldn’t provide them aid, he wasn’t certain the degree, the levels, of things he’d been pondering over could even manifest: massive shields to surround whatever domicile they occupied, some means, some measures of ensuring nothing swarmed past, even to knock on a window or door. It sounded as though they’d be doing much the same as previous years; though he noted the etchings of a communication system. “We had shells before…” he muttered out loud, amongst the passwords and needs for altering it thereafter, capable of conversing with one another in different locations. They’d have to figure out who still held them, and then if there could be a better means or measure.

Her final statement almost made him flinch. They’d just have to grant more warnings, more omens, seriousness in the face of potential agony, anguish, and disaster. Especially to those new, or from the kingdoms within portals. His brow furrowed vaguely, lost in thought, mulling over the notions again. “Would it be wise to send some to other lands?” Or would that matter mostly to those leading the realms? If they were open to trading, as the council had previously discussed, especially those in Halo? Did they have their own disasters to tend to come winter? Then he shook his head, the roll of sentiments and ruminations clattering and clambering together. “Thank you.” I apologize for wasting your time sunk there too, and the Sword bowed his head again, a solemn nod granted and given.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

safrin

"Mmm, shells used for drunken conversations and gossip." Safrin replied with a light sneer. But that was the perfect example of the problems facing the Grounds: they had the tools needed to survive and thrive, though when they were misused, it was the tools thought to be defective and not the weak and mortal minds using them.

"The monsters cannot leave the Grounds. Perhaps one day, when the storms drop and the areas around are made available further actions will have to be taken. But for now, this remains a purely Grounder problem." Safrin replied softly.

Tutting at this, Safrin shook her head. Reaching out a finger, she'd try to raise the General's eyes as well as his impressive jawline. "I shall tell you what I have told many before you, and will tell many after. The failings of this world are not yours to bear. The deaths that the Grounds accrue during the week of darkness will never rest on your shoulders, despite whatever you might perceive as your failings. They will always be at the hands of the Voice. "

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

He snorted, some raw semblance of humor at her first statement. He’d only operated them to be enlightened of Loren’s dramatics and details of the bar being set on fire, utilizing the information to go with Remi and get Cera’s remains. If others preferred them for drunken discourse and gossip, he wasn’t really surprised. Perhaps they would just need to set stricter guidelines for their use.  

Her softer expansion on the monsters incapable of leaving the Grounds was fortuitous for the lands beyond the portals, and they wouldn’t have to worry about demons crossing over. The one day aspect, if storms ceased, if elements desisted, if some other foreshadowed events truly met their orchestration contorted in the back of his mind, for moments when the rest of the world would have to persevere just the same.

His solemn nod and stoic expression were clearly not favored; he found his jaw, his chin, lifted – piercing stare landing on hers. For half a moment he wondered if he’d errored somehow, someway, again, if her fingers were due to clench and tighten over his throat once more. He fought the notion of flinching, forcing an easygoing breath, while she spoke of sagacity and wisdom, while she attempted to puncture off the responsibility, the weight, he frequently bore across his shoulders.

A hard habit to break, a difficult thing to peel away from his entity, when he’d spent lifetimes doing just that – protecting, guarding, unleashing torrent after torrent, havoc after havoc, ensuring those in his kingdom survived, were sheltered, that he was the storm, the tempest, the savage, bestial blade in the chilling, frigid void. If another faltered, if another swayed, if another stumbled, if another broke, if another was taken, the Reaper always placed the burden upon himself. The Sword was much the same. Because those like Cera should’ve lived.

They will always be at the hands of the Voice echoed and reverberated; and all he could think of was Rexanna, beam in her chest, a product of the same goddess, and brutalized, beaten, punctured, and maimed anyway. He nodded, a modicum of understanding, trying to etch away those skeletal figures, the fire in the guild, the bodies burnt, the wreckage instilled, off his spine. “We will still try our best.” Maybe that was all they could do: to simply continue fighting by existing, enduring, hiding, and harboring.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

safrin

"Doors made strong, ways of speaking over distances...these are all things I can help you with.  But keeping egos in check? Heroic antics at bay?" Safrin shook her head softly. "Far easier to crush them. Or lock them away somewhere dark and silent where their contributions can't harm anyone..." The goddess raised a brow. Shackles, unbreakable chains...those too were things she might help with.

'Ask yourself who is to fear, Deimos. The monsters outside, or those who think themselves strong enough to face them. Then you'll know what it is you shall need to keep those you love safe.'

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Egos and heroes permitted the smallest of smirks to embed itself along his mouth, uncertain of where he fit within those antics, pondering over many others who’d shown they were willing to take the chances the previous year. Locking them away earned the arch of his brow, his eyes sliding along the horizon, and then back to her. Implications, perhaps, of grander scales to be met with defiance and snares, of trials and tribulations from the lingering seasons. Hadn’t they attempted with Roana – distinctly remembering capturing, recapturing, and locking her away in a specific cell (not the one they’d lined with evasion tactics)? She’d still found a way out, still found a way to show up at their door, parade through until she met her demise. She could’ve been the impetus. Or it could’ve been any of the others, himself included, wandering out into the dead of night to accomplish a task they thought worthwhile. Perhaps they should’ve instituted a change in policies, held a forum to insist upon the actions throughout LongNight, what to be done, what to cease and desist. What about those who were still called to heralds’ tasks? The beast had no doubt there were those that would be willing to tell, to say, and those who wouldn’t be at all.

Could he just be a fortress, strive to protect them each and every time they wandered?

“What do you have in mind?” For her chains and shackles? How many to place them upon? Would it suffice, when there were siren calls and wails, when there were monsters’ pretending to be their favored? Would any of their preparations matter, in the end?

Her last statement contorted and clawed over the entity of his soul, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, uncertain of how to answer. Maybe they were all threats to one another. He thought of Rexanna, of Kiada, of the others who contorted their way through the night, endeavoring for things that seemed so obsolete now. “Probably both,” on a more solemn note, the humor gone, because there seemed to be nothing spared against them in the coming days – everyone clenching, grasping, for something out of reach.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

safrin

"Chains unbreakable by mortal magic. Coils that shift with attuned bodies." She shrugs, leadingly. There is so much she can do, many pages to take from Frey's books when it comes to tying the humans up. "It's the consequences to consider, not the means. Those most in need of restraints are probably those who think they need them least."

The goddess raised a brow at this, before shaking her head. "Study your history, Sword. The naturals survived this week through silence and contemplation before you all arrived. And now that you have come, the death toll has never been higher."

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

“What about some sort of mobile cage?” Tilting his head, considering, most of the suggestions fine as well – brainstorming, the schemes contorting, normalcy, to analyze, plot, and surmise. But her other sentiments gave him pause in the ideas. Not the means, but the consequences – his mind returning to Roana’s quest from Ludo, being asked to kill an Ascended, and being incapable of doing so. Too many others told, too many motions rendered, and she’d been locked away, the damage done thereafter. Were they willing to exploit the use of such chains or coils? To take the vitriol, the vehemence, of another’s contempt? Whatever was to follow? “True. I cannot fathom anyone taking it well.” The Reaper wouldn’t have stopped at anything; feral and savage, indifferent towards someone’s loathing, coated and layered in abhorrence of his own. The Sword was a bit more cautious – too many other semblances already blown apart.

Her raised brow and impending sagacity slid over him, his jaw firmly clenching shut on a rebuttal. A glint of a challenge in his eye pierced and punctured, but his voice didn’t. The ruminations of his thoughts spiraled and coiled, contorting in various aspects, stemming and outlining on Outlander faults once more. Except some Naturals had wandered out into the midst year after year, Samuel came to mind quickly on that failed expedition, when they should’ve known better. Perhaps they were all guilty. Perhaps curiosity and challenges from Outlander sources orchestrated the means and measures of LongNight depravities. Perhaps they’d moved the blame from the Voice, and to those who’d had no choice in coming here. So he simply nodded, and took the brunt of the speculation.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

safrin

Were it anyone else, someone with a mind not made for strategy and one who hadn't experienced wars, Safrin would have immediately scoffed at the idea. Deimos' history though, made her pause with a touch of respect. "Mobility seems to be precisely the opposite of what's wanted here. Tell me Sword, why would you want your cage to be mobile?"

Were it up to Safrin, she'd grant Deimos shackles of starlight and the ability to bind those with a penchant for opening doors and hereoing about in some dark part of the atheneum where their shouts of outrage wouldn't reach the outside world.