DEIMOS
Too inherent; those feelings and multitudes of loss, the Sword repeatedly on the receiving end of destruction and calamity, hurt and pain, internal anguishes he strived so readily not to bring to the surface. It was far too easy to bring up every damned wall, every malicious fortification, to ensure no one else obliterated another piece away from him. He was still trying to stick the rubble, the ruins, back together, hastily, swiftly, and every now and again they fell away from one another, so he felt like an empty, immense tower of wounds and lacerations, of scars, of brutality. Guarded, secluded, and struggling to break over surfaces before he drowned in the wake of so many other armaments reaching for his soul.But Aisha had never been that way. She hadn’t mauled him. She hadn’t marred him. She hadn’t been altered, fragmented, or destroyed. Instead, she forced him out of the shell and into places not so touched or tarnished by shadows – an amiable, friendly comfort in their familiar walks of life, in vehemence, in the notions of similar aspirations, to boldly press their skills into these halls and strive for something greater. It gave him far more hope than what he’d had in the last few seasons, and he breathed, he calmed, he relaxed. In some swift turn of fate, he found himself safe in her presence. And the General wasn’t certain if he’d ever be able to convey his appreciation properly – save for the Attuned measures, where the storm in his eyes ebbed away.
There were other things to do besides linger in the space of future intervals. He turned into the humor, into the light accord, away from the brutality, down into the plains of mischief and potential instead. “Ningos. Fat, white, dim birds.” His mouth managed to curl into a juvenile grin, already twisting, turning, into other remnants of who he used to be, could be again, given time, given patience, given opportunities where he wasn’t devoured by his grief. “There were some by the Palace earlier.” And he motioned towards the door, a casual wave to Zuriel; the unicorn snorted and continued her rest by the fire. That semblance was well-earned too, with all the hours she’d spent painstakingly watching over him. A certain creed of devil-may-care notions spiraled over his mind as he stepped out, expecting her to follow. “As long as we do not tell Chulane. He wants to farm them.” Except Deimos and others were casually picking off the wild interlopers one-by-one.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
