DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Quietly, a hushed entity, his hands maneuvered to intertwine the lanterns amidst the rest of their brethren. These in particular wouldn’t gain recognition the way some others death had – these were his and his alone, weights borne from bloodlines, ones he took on his shoulders without complaint. He tied the one embedded and laced in fire, fingers gliding over the wood until it was righted, and then the one intertwined and laden with water, waves and sagacity he likely wouldn’t ever bear for himself. The Sword’s eyes fell upon them once more, before a sigh trickled through, and he raised his head to suddenly stare upon the rest.
Hotaru was nearby, likely grieving Ru’in, or any multitude of lost children, comrades, and allies, and he slowly inclined towards her, as if a silent guard, another grounded, rooted thing if she required something else to lean upon.
Hotaru was nearby, likely grieving Ru’in, or any multitude of lost children, comrades, and allies, and he slowly inclined towards her, as if a silent guard, another grounded, rooted thing if she required something else to lean upon.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
