this is the reckoning
Deimos only had the sagacity and wherewithal because he’d done it before. The crown had been heavy, cumbersome, and pervading, a tether he’d never rid himself of until he perished. Until he’d fallen apart. Until he’d burnt himself out and flared and became a crescendo of conflagrations; withering in each and every direction, and then death came to retrieve the one who’d conjured its incantations. His preference would never lean towards being the high King on the precipice, hissing at matters of diplomacy and politics. The Sword would forever be suited as a living, breathing weapon, a bastion of armaments, a siege unleashed, unfurled, and assisting others in the potential for protection, shielding, and preservation – especially in a world constantly undermining the latter.
He kept the notion of Morgan not returning out of his mind. The same for Kiada, Elide, or anyone else caught in the scramble of LongNight. He didn’t permit the apprehension to curl its way through his spine, or claw its terror through his ribs. The calculations were there, if and when the time, the moment, was necessary.
And on the first day of Flowerbirth, he’d likely hover and haunt the portal.
His head lowered at Noah’s words, and the insect went to join the rest of its glowing brethren. A sigh still managed to choke and rumble its way through, a shrug, a ripple, through canine shoulders. We will see when the time comes was all he’d surmise, because for now there was no use in planning too far ahead, when the possibilities were endless, when the quandaries wouldn’t be answered immediately. The Machiavellian decisions were there, ready and able, but not quite so willing. He’d hadn’t written them all off yet – these brethren and kin of the mountains.
He kept the notion of Morgan not returning out of his mind. The same for Kiada, Elide, or anyone else caught in the scramble of LongNight. He didn’t permit the apprehension to curl its way through his spine, or claw its terror through his ribs. The calculations were there, if and when the time, the moment, was necessary.
And on the first day of Flowerbirth, he’d likely hover and haunt the portal.
His head lowered at Noah’s words, and the insect went to join the rest of its glowing brethren. A sigh still managed to choke and rumble its way through, a shrug, a ripple, through canine shoulders. We will see when the time comes was all he’d surmise, because for now there was no use in planning too far ahead, when the possibilities were endless, when the quandaries wouldn’t be answered immediately. The Machiavellian decisions were there, ready and able, but not quite so willing. He’d hadn’t written them all off yet – these brethren and kin of the mountains.
DEIMOS
