remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
The Reaper had held his dominion and reign over the Aurora Basin for years, but never enjoyed a moment of it. He wouldn’t relish the notion of sovereignty again; had taken the mantle when necessary, had patrolled and hailed to diplomacy and loathed politics until he thought he might cast himself right off the summits. But in some regard, it’d been about protecting his own too, just not in the way he ultimately desired; craving the devastation, the ruin, of an enemy, rather than the policies of treaties, of extending and sharing merits, talents, and abilities. Armistices had bound him, and adversaries had still lingered – biding their time, their moments, their opportunities, their chances. He could still stand tall, monolithic, a self-made fortress and fortification, for this world and the next. Let others have the crowns, the distinctions, the roles of statecraft – he’d gladly ensnare himself within blades and munitions for an eternity. Inquiry stoked, and it was probably the liquor, loosening, relaxing, permitting him to keen and peel away from reticent regards. “What made you want to become Warden instead?” Rather than remaining in her soldier wares? But the stories of the past years continued, and his eyes went to the ceiling, pondering over Arduinna’s methods. “I am not certain. The Fae have their own way.” Perhaps she hadn’t cared as much as Delah, permitting strangers within their grounds for a limited time, simply so they’d leave just as quickly. Perhaps she’d done it to get under the warrior’s skin, a challenge set in mercurial exploits. Perhaps they’d never know, and the enigmatic quandaries would settle as mere mysteries of the nymphs within the wood. “She is gone now too.” A subtle memory, piercing through the days of sickness, more afflictions, more parallels drawn over tenuous lines. “Sacrificed herself to help alleviate the blight.” Was her stony figure still carved there? Or had it disappeared too – into the backdrop, carried away by the filaments of her people?
Deimos managed another snort into his drink, a rumble of some vague amusement. “I did not get to see it. Supposedly it is similar to a turtle, though much more massive.” He’d missed the one in the Spire too, before Safrin rescued it from its plight; he’d been far too close to dying, sent out of the Spire to summon the goddess.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
