DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
He thought the brief meeting adjourned, intending to march back to his barracks confines, continue his work there, from the comfort and ease of worlds he knew. He was only held back by the first statement, a use of words that set his jaw into clench, initial dread beginning to curl into his veins. The expectation had been warranted to something else – the usual presumption of some monsters found, some other over-arching demon stealing away this and that. Not Morgan’s impending departure, which instigated an immediate turn of his machinations, the Machiavellian frames beginning their precise sedition. Promised alliance? This had been the first he’d heard of it. Didn’t they have enough individuals within the Grounds to prepare? He’d know – he’d done it three times over. Was she intending to join up beside their ranks as they waged onslaughts against the fiends?
His features drew right back to a cold, hardened reticence. Unattainable, unreachable all over again, a chilling void, impassive, save for the narrowing of his eyes as he began to search, lingering and looking below the fathoms. “And what are you going to do there?” He was under the impression the fight would be Ascended alone; based on enraged family dinner discussions with Samuel. “I am aware. I have been asked to make weapons for them.” And he was staying here, as per his duty and responsibility.
And then the ax truly fell, and a bristling of the old Reaper rage coiled and nestled its way through his soul. It traversed down his veins, contorted over his spine, rigid, taut, an unyielding thing. Perhaps that was just so; because it’d been the Reaper that had led, never the Sword, down across mountains and valleys, that hadn’t wanted the titles and crowns, that had only taken up the mantle because he’d feared the Basin would crumble. It was not so here – but there were other factions, other notions at work. He couldn’t explain the anger – maybe it was primordial, inherent, drawn up from those days of constantly defending, protecting, bleeding for a community that saw him as naught more than a weapon. Maybe it was unjust and apprehension-filled, a formidable foreboding that carved its way over his shoulders every time he put more and more pressure on himself. “I said I would protect Halo. Not lead it.” He didn’t want power. He didn’t the namesakes, the prestige, any of it, and now he’d been placed in this bizarre position of temporary sovereignty; the cold denizens haunting in the back of his mind. “This is the only time I will agree to it.” Because he could hear the command in her voice, but he could prosper his own. “You will not ask this of me again.” Not when there were others who were far more suitable, far more capable, who’d lived here longer than singular seasons.
His features drew right back to a cold, hardened reticence. Unattainable, unreachable all over again, a chilling void, impassive, save for the narrowing of his eyes as he began to search, lingering and looking below the fathoms. “And what are you going to do there?” He was under the impression the fight would be Ascended alone; based on enraged family dinner discussions with Samuel. “I am aware. I have been asked to make weapons for them.” And he was staying here, as per his duty and responsibility.
And then the ax truly fell, and a bristling of the old Reaper rage coiled and nestled its way through his soul. It traversed down his veins, contorted over his spine, rigid, taut, an unyielding thing. Perhaps that was just so; because it’d been the Reaper that had led, never the Sword, down across mountains and valleys, that hadn’t wanted the titles and crowns, that had only taken up the mantle because he’d feared the Basin would crumble. It was not so here – but there were other factions, other notions at work. He couldn’t explain the anger – maybe it was primordial, inherent, drawn up from those days of constantly defending, protecting, bleeding for a community that saw him as naught more than a weapon. Maybe it was unjust and apprehension-filled, a formidable foreboding that carved its way over his shoulders every time he put more and more pressure on himself. “I said I would protect Halo. Not lead it.” He didn’t want power. He didn’t the namesakes, the prestige, any of it, and now he’d been placed in this bizarre position of temporary sovereignty; the cold denizens haunting in the back of his mind. “This is the only time I will agree to it.” Because he could hear the command in her voice, but he could prosper his own. “You will not ask this of me again.” Not when there were others who were far more suitable, far more capable, who’d lived here longer than singular seasons.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
