DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
It would be foolish, ignorant, to ignore the caustic friction unfurling, unwinding, from the thresholds and vestiges. It had been there before LongNight, in fractured pieces and pockets, here and there in the ethers, but there was a full-fledged line drawn in the sands now. It was only a matter of time before someone crossed it, pledged and plunged intent behind the misconduct, assaults, some measure of brutality justifying vengeance in its vehemence. When and how churned in his mind, hesitant to be on the waiting end, but uncertain where to go from here. The Sword was a foundation, a fortification, in patience and diligence, but here the unknown bled through too much. He’d always known what to do in Helovia (fight back, blood and bone, pressing weapons into the schism, unleashing hell, grit and mettle, unafraid, undaunted, by the wake of circumstances). Here, no matter what he seemed to try, dealt very little, or exploded in his face.
He arched a brow at the notion of learning, wielding fire, justifying it with a nod. It’d been one of his favored elements, secure in lineage, bloodlines, and the feeling of home, back in the Moonlit Tides, watching his father ignite blades and spiral fury.
Morgan hadn’t heard about the door though – and Deimos had presumed everyone had, once the news of Rexanna’s death had reached their ears. He grimaced, mouth pulled into a tight line, brows furrowed, jaw clenching, thinking perhaps he shouldn’t reveal it all. Relive the horror. The stupidity. The consequences of actions. But maybe this was his penance too, a knife to the gut, a dagger to the spine, cutting down backbones and marrow. “I asked Safrin for a door to help shield us from the monsters during LongNight.” The beast paused, gaze stretching away, off to targets and shambles. “It worked against Ascended as well.” Perhaps she could piece the rest together by herself, the nuances, the shattered, charred remnants of a Queen and best friend, gone within an instant, and only because he’d wanted to guard them.
He arched a brow at the notion of learning, wielding fire, justifying it with a nod. It’d been one of his favored elements, secure in lineage, bloodlines, and the feeling of home, back in the Moonlit Tides, watching his father ignite blades and spiral fury.
Morgan hadn’t heard about the door though – and Deimos had presumed everyone had, once the news of Rexanna’s death had reached their ears. He grimaced, mouth pulled into a tight line, brows furrowed, jaw clenching, thinking perhaps he shouldn’t reveal it all. Relive the horror. The stupidity. The consequences of actions. But maybe this was his penance too, a knife to the gut, a dagger to the spine, cutting down backbones and marrow. “I asked Safrin for a door to help shield us from the monsters during LongNight.” The beast paused, gaze stretching away, off to targets and shambles. “It worked against Ascended as well.” Perhaps she could piece the rest together by herself, the nuances, the shattered, charred remnants of a Queen and best friend, gone within an instant, and only because he’d wanted to guard them.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
