DEIMOS
An avid listener and absorber of knowledge, wisdom, sagacity, and experiences, the stoic entity maintained the same semblance. The stories didn’t sound dissimilar; weren’t there always tomes playing homage to legends? To the words of disciples? To the loyalists, who fostered their deities’ names in blood and bone, wrath and deceit? In love and compassion, and somehow found them intermingling, woven together in a clawing, maniacal fist? It was all in how it was ordained, proclaimed, and unbidden, which side lost within which interval. The only portion he was confused over was the notions of rich; for Helovia’s spoils had always been in land, in power, in prestige, in the prowess of their capabilities to withhold those kingdoms. The deities here are real – though I am not certain that makes them any less or better. Still manipulative. Still garnering for absolution. Still moving their pieces when opportunity struck. He didn’t bristle. He didn’t hover in the abyss, just in the memories of other times and other worlds. And due to Kiada’s stories, he knew Helovia had imparted its own false god into the narrative.
And the others had perished.
I find they are not unlike most mortals. Flawed, complex, no matter how black or white they wanted to appear – lines were drawn, but also wavering, tempestuous, and mercurial. The ones in my land from before instigated warfare. Which was why the familiarity of the moments spurned against his flesh. It was happening again.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
