DEIMOS
The Sword and Reaper had long since learned about the lack of fairness in the world. How no matter what anyone did, how no matter how strong, determined, or audacious, it could still come back to bite, to seethe, to torment, to unravel. He’d lost battles, he’d lost families, he’d lost friends, he’d lost lives, even if he threw himself down as a shield in front of their stalwart features – they were still gone. It shouldn’t have occurred, all this misfortune, all this haphazard duplicity, all these facets of unforgiving life. But the atmosphere didn’t repent, and held no shame in what it took, what it snagged, what it stole from the living, and they were left to pick up the pieces, the shambles, the echoes, and the vestiges of whatever remained.And he was so damn tired.
So he stood, wild and tall and exhausted, as Chulane paced, the restless energy coiling around them. It was something different from the overwhelming grief, but still forbearing in its misery, and he breathed into it, jaw clenching, holding bones and mettle and grit together when he had nothing else.
The reflection of the companion, lost and forlorn, hadn’t been vacant from his mind – just secondary, after informing Chulane of the devastation. What happened to companions when their bonds were severed, broken, and gone? If he hadn’t been on the journey with Kiada, where would he have wandered? Did they sink into the abyss too, to join their beloved brethren, or did they start again as humans strived and tried? A sigh, and he glanced away from the floor, to somewhere else in the room. “I do not know. I was hoping he was here.” In Halo, and not scorched in the flames.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
