DEIMOS
They all had those moments where the world weathered, burned, scorched, and carved apart their limbs, their bones, their souls – but it was how they recovered, how they reigned, how they grew that would impact the rest of the void. To persevere? To sink? He’d done both so many times that it was habitual to either simmer on the brink of disaster, to walk the fine-line and edges of overbearing, all-consuming, hollowed ramparts, or to live, breathe in, take another step, then one more, until it couldn’t tear him apart. Each and every world had hurt him too many times to truly hide it; clear in his eyes, in his stance, in the way the earth shuddered over his shoulders. But he was still here, he was still alive, he was still present, and that had to account for something. Learning, all over again, what it meant to overcome the demolition and destruction surrounding his livelihood. Renewal. Resurgence. Resurrection. Another chapter in the saga of the Sword.
And he had friends there for it, where he could laugh and not fall apart and relax into moments where the echoes of defeat weren’t so loud. And he’d do the same for them, over and over and over again.
His lips curved back into a smile at the mention of adventures; welcoming, to wander into the Tundra and see what they could find along the way. The beast grumbled under her pat, but took the ningos off the spit, once more imparting the potential of better days – as fleeting as they might’ve been – and passing her portion over. There they could dine and be ridiculous, meandering back into wakes and walks of normalcy.
{FIN <3}
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
