who we are and all that we're trying to be
Reflections of movement; his piercing eyes watched as the leopard sat too, predators aligned rather than ignited. A calming edge to otherwise tumultuous possibilities, the rumble of ire and fire and devastation contorting its way through his marrow, too much time in predator antics and instincts to ever have it leave. He’d always been the carnivore rapacity, the agent provocateur, the slash of a blade, the steel and glint of a sword. None of that had changed while embedded and infused in beastly adornments; just the state of weaponry and munitions.
But this stranger might have been smarter, keener, than they appeared; the surprising flickering through telepathic whims wound its way to his hound abyss, and a bizarre set of reverence the mountainous individual was not akin to feeling. A gruff snort billowed through his nostrils, rushing into the midnight air on a plume and curl of breath, the only thing maneuvering from his sanction. Perhaps it was a good thing Chulane didn’t start apologizing, asking for forgiveness – there was nothing that would cause a need to express regret, and Deimos would have lumped him in the same category as Oliver all over again.
The inquiry set forward though it wasn’t what he expected. The General presumed there’d be questions about lands, about regions, about kingdoms, about portals, how and why and when everyone had been received here. He could’ve imparted a deluge of information about the disasters, the ruins, the oblivions, the consignments of condemnation and oblivion. But the Gods were not in his repertoire, despite his experiences with them. Chulane would’ve had better luck with Amalia, with Ronin, with Jigano, with any of the counterparts of Voice congregations. Unfortunately for him, however, he hadn’t run into the Shield, the Dark Star, the Sage, or even the Wraith. He’d found the Sword, rampaging through consuming groves.
He couldn’t even truly saw followed or devoted – Deimos had nearly made it a point to skirt around the issue, for fear and experiences of manipulation, of being so severely bound that his choices were no longer his own. Maybe it was inherently foolish, to be so distrusting, to be so cautious and apprehensive, when his own loved ones had long since been committed to stars and galaxies. Maybe he was too, and simply didn’t see it, didn’t understand it, already far too immersed, already owed enough debts, already extended his hands and wiles into their machinations. Safrin attuned me was a safer answer.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
