i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty
Hidden; memories and tragedies and circumstances he’d overwise not yearn to visit ever again. They often managed to wind their way back around in his nightmares, where there were fleeting trials and tribulations burned against his mind, echoing for eternities, brandished in the same torment, the same torture, as before. Perhaps it was wise then for neither of them to say anything at all. No damage done. No outpouring of demolition and disaster. No lives spun into other voids. Just the vestiges of it, scattered across the pair.
Zuriel stayed down below the wall, and he could feel her eyes on him, following upwards – saying multitudes without breathing into life at all. He cast his gaze upon the unicorn briefly, and then permitted Kiada’s voice to be a distraction. The Sword didn’t glance at her, couldn’t, until he’d regained some composure, steeled and forged and fortified away, and only a deep rumble of his vocals concocted, unfurled, unraveled. Too taut, too unreachable now, striving to survive in the gathered trauma. “You will see.” Barely a smirk etched its way into the corner of his mouth, and then he straightened, rampaging, a savage pace set by long limbs, up the steeper slope.
Until they came to the top, where the height of the snowy embankment prevailed slightly over the barracks, and the world opened up. To rooftops of local houses and market squares, kiosks long since closed for the evening, for the festival of lights, and the shimmer of those same embers down below. The sprawl of the icy Palace loomed, jutting out against the horizon, the council halls tucked quietly beside. The Citadel walls remained a fortress of its own, quiet and dark. And then there was the horizon itself – cloudless and starlit, opening up over a canvas of ivory. He stood, tall and monolithic on top of its modest summit, and for a moment they could pretend the Basin was before them, that the view was from turrets of old, and that the sky would miraculously burst into hues of blue and violet.
Zuriel stayed down below the wall, and he could feel her eyes on him, following upwards – saying multitudes without breathing into life at all. He cast his gaze upon the unicorn briefly, and then permitted Kiada’s voice to be a distraction. The Sword didn’t glance at her, couldn’t, until he’d regained some composure, steeled and forged and fortified away, and only a deep rumble of his vocals concocted, unfurled, unraveled. Too taut, too unreachable now, striving to survive in the gathered trauma. “You will see.” Barely a smirk etched its way into the corner of his mouth, and then he straightened, rampaging, a savage pace set by long limbs, up the steeper slope.
Until they came to the top, where the height of the snowy embankment prevailed slightly over the barracks, and the world opened up. To rooftops of local houses and market squares, kiosks long since closed for the evening, for the festival of lights, and the shimmer of those same embers down below. The sprawl of the icy Palace loomed, jutting out against the horizon, the council halls tucked quietly beside. The Citadel walls remained a fortress of its own, quiet and dark. And then there was the horizon itself – cloudless and starlit, opening up over a canvas of ivory. He stood, tall and monolithic on top of its modest summit, and for a moment they could pretend the Basin was before them, that the view was from turrets of old, and that the sky would miraculously burst into hues of blue and violet.
or your stubbornness?
DEIMOS
