[Training] I still don't want to be here

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame He missed the bewilderment, the widened eyes, busy and content in the adornments, in fastening them over the patches, in ensuring the roof was solid once more, could withstand the potential blows of another upcoming Deepfrost. Nothingness in the segments of gods wasn’t new; the foreign aspect was usually tied and tethered to those wandering into the midst. There would be better people to speak to about the subject – those with reverence or vehemence – but he could lay in the foundations. “The Old Gods are Vi, Mort, and Rae. Their heralds are Safrin, Ludo, and Frey. There are some others, like Tanau and Eirachi, that seem to represent the seasons.” He’d yet to come across the Eirachi, and had zero desire to, but Tanau had been the fiery emblem, the youth behind the falls, proffering illness and cures. “The New God is the Voice.” He repressed a snarl, only a faint grimace and wrinkle to his nose extending his thoughts on the goddess. The inquiry thereafter pulled him out of the incantations briefly, raising his head from where it’d been ducked and bowed, concentrating on the filaments spreading between his hands. “Creation.” He handed some new pieces over to Sah too, so he might attempt to place them along the empty spaces too. As far as the sickness, the casualties, the amount of people who’d suffered, he could only shrug, the air of mischief bounding along his otherwise impassive glances. “It is fine.” He’d begun to train the guards, to reassemble his own skirmishes and duels, to adhere to practices. Endurance and fortitude, might and mettle, had risen again, and he’d been climbing out of the ashes, the embers, the drowning, warring mechanisms down into his soul. “There is always too much to do.” By means of an excuse, truth to the declaration. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace