DEIMOS
Denial was heavy, a way for one’s mind to reject the notions of another being gone. Blessed moments before had been real and tangible, no forethought to what danger lurked underneath – something that should’ve been a more simplistic mission becoming a whirlwind of cataclysms. Deimos had already experienced those on multiple levels, no matter which world, which land, the contortions of the bristling uncertainties waxed and waned, then obliterated. A soul could try, could try, could try constantly, consistently, as this family so often did – and in the end, fortune wasn’t on their side. Kiada’s death traced over the foundations of things he’d known for what felt like eternities, but it didn’t make them any less crushing. A single wrong maneuver, a thought of flight, a basking glow of emblems that made her whole – and then nothing. But the Sword was determined, full of grit, mettle, and disaster, and had no intention of leaving her to be forgotten in the midst and mist. She’d be more than a catacomb, a tomb he couldn’t visit. An entanglement of memories and reminders.
Chulane bobbled, Zuriel supported, and Deimos stood, head bowed, predisposed to mourning. To losing. To drifting along edges and fringes, to striving towards either a goal, or the darkness encroaching. “I know,” he murmured in response, quiet, forbearing, taking it all on his shoulders, down the length of his spine. They should’ve been destined for far, far more; chances and opportunities, ventures and chances. The world might not have been able to contain the Harpy – but she would’ve flourished just the same, given time, given patience, given hopes and motivations. The notion that none of it could come to fruition bit and clawed, and he clenched his jaw once more, fighting over the agony itself.
He wasn't certain upon what to do with Chulane’s sobs, tears, or agony. He didn’t know what to do with his. Move forward? Wallow? So he and the unicorn remained vigilant and silent, while the younger man contorted through the notions of a monumental figure lost.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
