new-rising smoke

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

He’d forgotten; it had sat on his tongue so fluidly, so indulgently, that he hadn’t even thought about the implications of her resurrection – just the motions of the hot springs, and all the memories it could bring, instead of shatter. A very quiet, muffled sigh warred its way through his lungs, and he was instantly straighter, more unyielding, more rigid, through the columns of his spine. “I apologize.” It’d been thoughtless, and he’d always tried to be very careful with all the properties of his words.

The lantern lights flickered on, and he drew his gaze back towards the sky, and then down, towards the ramparts of stones and streets – finding a bench nearby, and needing no other reason to wander, opted to sit upon it, Belial bounding forward and laying at his feet. “Not well,” and he smirked a little, leaning back against the railing, considering, contemplating, every inch the picture of an inquiring monolith. “Very whiny. Attempted to justify his actions.” A shrug undulated through, because at some point one could hope lessons would stick; Deimos remained very uncertain about any of it really mattering in the end. Sunjata was selfish, and would go along with his capricious impulses and greedy whims until something truly hit him in the face.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

KIADA

i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp
of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do

Her free hand rises to wave off his apology, shaking her head enough that her dark hair bounces around her shoulders with the motion. “You don’t have to apologize.” She reminds him easily, flashing a fanged smile his way. “You didn’t make me Ascend, I chose to.” The smile grows a bit wider, more fanged. She could dwell on it herself and the things she misses but that doesn’t mean he needs to be careful about it around her. She’s slowly coming to terms with it. It’s progress, of a sort.

So she settles beside him when he leans back against the rail and her head’s angled up toward Deimos with a raise of a dark brow, her nose eventually wrinkling as he explains. “Gross.” She shakes her head and heaves a quiet sigh. “And then you left?” She asks, unsure of the timelines of such things. But he had said he didn’t enact any sort of revenge on the Flood, so what else was there to do?

but we could be together, if you wanted to
do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Her words echoed, and he didn’t flinch, but the reverberations stayed inside his head for a while. The beast allowed them to resound over and over and over again, about choices, about decisions, about ways in which the earth twisted, contorted, and distorted. Would this conversation have mattered much if it occurred years ago? Without the ominous wake shifting over all of them? Without the threat of war? Deimos had been proud of her – for choosing to live again, as so many of them had done, for making her own path, just as Rexanna had carved, sculpted, and hardened her forged lane. Except now it pressed between his shoulder blades, except now it held deeper meanings, and while the regard for her accomplishments remained, the trepidation lingered there too.

Maybe it always would – and not because of Ascendeds, or Attuneds, or any nature of gods and their work. But because he cherished her, loved her, and had already lost her once before. The stakes just kept amplifying, growing, gaining higher and higher ground.

So he sighed once more, nodded, and accepted the statements for what they were; fangs and all. Continued onwards, tried not to examine where the conversation would eventually lead, which damned black hole he’d enclose and suffocate himself within. “I did.” And one could hope it’d be the last time he’d ever have to deal with the Flood and his rampant stupidity. They could keep their theatrics in Torchline.

But before the General continued into the next story, he tilted his head, scrutinizing her features, arching his brow, throwing out an inquiry that had plagued him since Hotaru had mentioned it, that had haunted the beginning of the next tale. “Do you think I give too much?”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

KIADA

i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp
of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do

She hopes that he takes it to heart, that he understands that she doesn’t need his apologies. In the end, it’s just idle conversation for her – a reminder of the things she’s missing out on, the things that she needs to get used to living without, the deadened senses, the lukewarm body temperature, the constant trips to the shrine in the Fangs to re-up on her fluid rather than constantly going about her day like normal.

Life changing, sure, but at least she was alive. That’s what counted, right? So she could be here and spend time with those she loved because her life wasn’t done yet regardless if the world decided otherwise. She’d come back. She’d said ‘fuck this’ and returned. And here she is.

The conversation moves on and she studies his face, nodding when he tells her that he left after that. And when the conversation drifts to something more… Personal, she supposes, over the idle stories and conversation of before, her dark brows furrow as she regards him. It’s a hard question to answer, one that she doesn’t know where to stand.

She’s silent for a while, mulling over her words, and when they finally come they’re a bit tentative. “I think… That it isn’t so much what you give.” She pauses to purse her lips, regarding him curiously. “I think that you keep so much bottled in that the giving part of you is a… Defense mechanism?” She tilts her head, dark hair falling over her shoulder. “A sort of… ‘look at this thing I’ve made for you and stop asking questions.’” She flashes him a small smile.

“I’d probably do the same, truthfully.” She straightens up a bit, as if it was all she had on her mind, before continuing on. “Why do you ask?”

but we could be together, if you wanted to
do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

She offered a similar aspect from what he’d heard before, but with an alternative view. And instead of miring down in the facets of its meanings, as he might’ve in seasons past, Deimos prospered and carried a light laugh, affectionate, grateful, she’d responded at all. “Avoidance,” he murmured, lifting his gaze towards the deepening, darkening sky, still finding himself willing it to change hues, to blend into a series of greens, reds, violets, and blues; and when it didn’t he shifted back towards her, leaning into the bench once more with a sigh. “I have had some very long conversations with Hotaru and Safrin. I am working on…talking,” and he wrinkled his nose, as if the very nature of it still remained vastly unappealing. “Not constantly giving, and then evading my own needs.” As he’d done time and time and time again – a cycle, a pattern, from the Aurora Basin until now.

Ignoring provisions like rest, repose, shelter, and sanctuary – proffering it towards others and then never granting it to himself. “I attempted to set some boundaries with crafting, at least, when Nate asked me to make him a diamond.” He shrugged his shoulders, snorting at the recollections. “He came across very entitled, and did not seem to care about Ru, so I said no, and told him where to find one.” And it could’ve ended there, but the Ascended Demigod had taken it ten times further, which made the monolith wonder if that was going to happen over and over and over – if he’d been too little, too late, with this newfound approach. “He did not take it well.”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

KIADA

i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp
of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do

Avoidance. That makes sense. And she can’t help but to offer a soft hum of understanding, her own attention flickering to the snow that remains built up against some of the buildings they’ve passed by. Her attention tilts back toward him with a dark raised brow, her smile broadening a fraction as he mentions that he’s spoken with Safrin and Hotaru and started working on talking more. It would be an adjustment for him, but she’s sure he can do it.

“Ah, that makes sense.” She offers softly before he launches into Nate and her smile grows a bit more amused, nodding her head. “No, he didn’t take it well.” She admits softly, a bit ruefully, nostalgically. “He’ll get over it though.” She shrugs, letting her gaze land back on him, studying the Sword’s face. “I helped him find one and let him vent.” She shrugs, before she leans in a bit playfully.

“After, of course, he surprised me in the Climb and I stabbed him with a throwing knife.” The chimed laugh leaves her as she leans back. “Figured it was the least I could do.” She had to help him after that whole ordeal, even if they couldn’t feel pain. “You’re going to upset people whether you want to or not because the boundaries haven’t been set yet. He’s just… The one of many, I suppose.”

but we could be together, if you wanted to
do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

Ah, based on Kiada’s insinuations, there’d been more complaining. All over a rock. All over the implications that Deimos apparently survived onslaught after onslaught only to serve those like Nate – their hands out, palms upward, waiting to drain the world before they mustered any attempts for themselves. He snorted, regarding the moment thereafter as the right choice made – and the instant persisted in a raw, exuberant laugh at the notion that she’d stabbed the demigod with a knife. “Well done.” Perhaps she’d still been practicing after all, and it allowed for a juvenile grin to form along his mouth, very much a mischievous boy underneath layers of hardship and armor.

Then he nodded at her final statement, considering the way he’d often so easily concocted creations and watched as the majority disappeared, content with their wares, and he content in their absence, in their departure. “I do not exist to be everyone’s artisan.” And if the Sword said it enough, echoed, reverberated, resounded it in the beats of his heart and the carvings of his soul, then perhaps it would sink deeper; become known, become habitual, become routine. The monolith shrugged, trying to keep it light, striving not to manifest into the thresholds of darkness and damnation.

But there still, remained the underlying thread.

So he pulled and tugged on it a little, giving an opening line that it so desperately required. “I initially went to Safrin to ask how to help destroy the Voice.” Not Kiada, not the Ascended, but the Goddess in general – and he waited, piercing gaze solely locked on hers, for everything else to segment together.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

KIADA

i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp
of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do

The well done has Kiada snorting, a puff of a cloud leaving her though it’s far more muted in the cold than Deimos’ exhales. And she shakes her head to it, shrugging as if it didn’t matter that much. She’d felt bad about it, but at least she’d managed to get her training in hand – both the throwing knives and her field medic prep, the very same that the Ascended doctor had taught her all those years ago.

Lifetimes ago, she supposes, given that she’d died. But that’s neither here nor there. And she hums a soft sound of agreement, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder with a bright grin. “That you are not.” She agrees, easily, standing up a bit straighter, bright eyes wide with excitement and happiness until it all begins to fall apart. All amusement and playfulness fades when the ball drops.

He could go chat with Safrin, that was fine. She didn’t particularly care too much about that ordeal. But… The latter. The latter.

Destroying the Voice.

A panic settles in her gut and she withdraws, hands shoved into her pockets as she tears her attention away from him to look at a branch that sticks out of the snow far off in the distance. “Destroy her?” She asks quietly. “What did Safrin say?”

She's afraid to find out.

but we could be together, if you wanted to
do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

He did somehow manage to conjure a habit of breaking apart all amusements; but things needed to be said, needed to be unfurled, needed to be unraveled. Deimos had never yearned to follow tides of stupidity and iniquity; watching from others’ experiences, gauging from glances of another, striving to orchestrate those less damaging and askew. The Sword had eternally been forthright, blunt, and honest with the Harpy – since the Basin, since Caido, since lives resurrected and emboldened back into different plains and surfaces. And they could smile and agree with one another, laugh until the morning rose, but eventually, there would be lines drawn, and no love lost, but split, somewhere in the ties and tethers of chosen paths.

His gaze followed her movements; and though things were more hidden now without bonds of attunement to absorb and beckon and alter, Deimos knew her well enough. The silence within the trepidation loomed, and he loosened a subtle sigh. “She did not give me an answer.” The shrug thereafter loosened the binding of his shoulders again, though the rest of him remained taut and rigid again, the unyielding placement of his spine, the justifications in his backbone. “Though she told me things I needed to hear.” Not to carry every agonizing weight. Not to hold onto grief. Not to become paralyzed with his ghosts (especially those who would never want him to).

Then the depth of his puncturing stare pierced right to her, for he wanted to make his sentiments about similar matters known, understood. “If things become…grim,” War; when it comes to war, tucked behind his teeth, and maybe she’d comprehend it, or maybe he’d have to stop tossing out those pebbles and give her the boulders – “I do not want you to ever sacrifice any part of yourself to save me.” No bargains struck with goddesses. No furtive means to an end that might not hold anything together anyway. “I am not worth that.”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

KIADA

i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp
of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do

‘She did not give me an answer.’

Perhaps for the first time, Kiada wonders if he’s lying to her, to save the fact that destroying the Voice would destroy her. She wonders if he realizes it and still chooses it. There isn’t any saving, there isn’t any choice for her. But she nods to him regardless when he mentions that they talked over things he needed to hear, while Kiada straightens up a bit, regards Deimos as equally as he regards her.

When war comes, she gets the undertones, not to sacrifice or bargain for him. And she nods, exhaling a slow sigh because she isn’t sure what to say to it.

Truthfully, it isn’t him she’s worried about. “Okay.” She says quietly, wondering whether it would do any good to bite her tongue on her own fears. It’s never worked in her favor before, though.

“I’m not… Worried about you, with the war, Deimos.” She comments softly, trying to pick her words carefully. “I know you. You can handle yourself. But… It sounds like you’ve picked her side. Safrin’s.” If anything, these last few months and seasons since she’d arose again, she’d come to terms with the Voice, had learned to appreciate her, had learned to appreciate others that weren’t as forthcoming as Wessex – like Adam and Nate and Isla.

but we could be together, if you wanted to
do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

The monolith had dreaded this conversation from the moment reality had struck – even in the depths of the contentment, the elation, the shock, and surprise that late autumn’s alterations had struck and stuck upon them. Her resurrection had been everything, and for a few feral instances he hadn’t looked any deeper. But it pooled and pulled apart now, clambering on the fringes of his backbone like a knotted noose, threatening to grapple and tether, to suffocate and disarm, to leave him back in the throngs of avoidance. Detachment had been so much easier – the indifferent king on his summits – and each choice tasted like ash and soot, like embers and knives sharpened on their edges.

And she accepted the boundary he’d set – for he wouldn’t have another assemblage like Sunjata, but the rest of it seemed bound to coil and contort in his chest.

She didn’t worry about him (no one did). He could handle himself (except when he couldn’t and he was dying and fading and waiting for everything to destroy him).

And maybe in between the lines the truth resided all the clearer, into every angle he’d ever believed about himself: you don’t matter. So he pushed it way, way, way down into the canals of his withering heart and tried to scrape it off, because the Harpy hadn’t said that, and he’d already set himself up for a fall. But he didn’t hide, didn’t shirk, didn’t preside into crumbling into pieces or dust, steadied his frame with a breath, wondered if there was something more he was supposed to be doing for her.

Kiada wouldn’t allow herself to be hidden or tucked away, and he wouldn’t deign to ask that of her. She was strong, determined, and tenacious, and to even ask in question (do you want me to do something) could possibly only dig the wounds in deeper.

“I have always sided with the Old Gods,” came the blunt end of it; piercing eyes searching hers. Deimos held nothing against the Ascended, save for a few who went perilously far – they’d made their choices, just as he had when he’d Attuned. Just as Kiada once followed another herald. Just as death left them with fewer and fewer options. So he sighed once more, permitting her to see, to hear, the uncertainty, the weight of too many things ricocheting through the cracks. “I do not know what else to do. I worry about you.” Not as an insult; but from fatherly bonds, permitted to foster again and again. “I worry about a lot of people.”

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

KIADA

i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp
of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do

The way he takes his words are not how she means them to. But they’re barbs just as much as his siding with the Old Gods are. Sharp and pointed, stabbing and lingering things that shoot through her as she stares at him, as he confirms her own quiet worries and fears. He’s always sided with the Old Gods. But for the war? For the things that were bigger than them? Perhaps she had been naïve to think that he’d choose her over it, regardless of what the Voice had done.

The Voice had brought her back to life.

He says he worries about her, that he doesn’t know what else to do, and her gaze narrows a fraction – brows drawing together in her quiet inner turmoil that matches his own. “I don’t know what else to do, either.” She admits, quietly, unsure that if she spoke louder that her voice might crack. Darkness creeps in around them and despite not feeling any chill outside, she can pretend she’s frigid with the chill that settles in her heart.

“If the Voice is destroyed, then I will be destroyed, too.” She can’t help the way her hands ball into fists in her pockets, the way she tears her gaze away from Deimos to stare at the sky and the brief flickering of stars far off in the distance, wondering what it might take to curse them all. “The Old Gods want me dead.” She finally whispers, wishing she could feel the thundering of her heartbeat in her ears because it might drown out everything else.

but we could be together, if you wanted to
do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?

DEIMOS

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates

The monolith could be grateful for another life given, granted, to the Harpy. He could be content with the notion that there’d been more than just second chances, but did her revival erase all the other multitudes and actions the Voice had committed? The deaths? The sicknesses (that had effected both of them)? The monsters? How many innocents paid for her crimes? Would Kiada’s existence pull him across the gaping void, away from all the things and moments and parallels he’d placed himself within – to fight amongst the Ascended?

They both knew better. She had her truth already – he’d said it, and he’d say it again. He was an obstinate wall too, seditious and defiant, capable of digging his heels into every tenacious thought. “I do not want you dead.” Nor did Chulane, who was another outlier to this conversation. But the Sword wasn’t about to bring it up across dinner, where they strived to make something normal when everything around them began to draw apart.

Was there a way? Sunjata had tried, and it hadn’t worked, likely not in the way he’d hoped. Was there a chance for the Ascended to be changed, altered, away from their dependency on their goddess? Or was that all part of the plan, to have them so intertwined, so entangled, that they would do anything to defend her, because otherwise they wouldn’t survive? All the deities had their means of manipulation. He lowered his head and breathed, warm puffs of air circumventing around, breaking up the particles of darkness flooding in around them – the dusk haunting, looming, now, no longer a comfort. “We already know bargaining for a change does not sound feasible.” Or the price was too high, the alterations demanded upon both too great. And he wouldn’t ask it of her.

The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead

KIADA

i'm sorry to interrupt, it's just i'm constantly on the cusp
of trying to kiss you, i don't know if you feel the same as i do

She knows. She knows that he doesn’t want her dead. And yet he’s still chosen the side that wishes for her demise, wishes to see the Voice and all of the Ascended destroyed. And for what? Peace? Protection? There’s been a lot of turmoil in Kiada’s life, death and reborn lives, but from here on out? This was her life now. Attached to a goddess whom she’s heard nothing but kind things from, someone her own mother had chosen for survival.

And it feels like everyone she knows is starting to slip away on the board. Deimos continues to inch further and further back into the shadows of the Old Gods and Kiada? Slinking further and further back into the Voice’s hands. She owed her life to the Voice, to Aamu, to Nate and Adam and Isla who had her back and kept her safe and alive during LongNight when she’d been forced to go and fight.

Her hands ball into fists a bit tighter in her pockets and her gaze is narrow, sharp and a touch hurt when she looks back at Deimos. “I know you don’t want me dead, but you’ve picked the side that does.” She whispers, as if it matters, as if any of this mattered.

His breaths cloud the cool air around them and Kiada finds herself staring at nothing but knowing that she can’t quite look at him right now. “You said no bargains. You just talked about Sunjata’s horrible decision.” She admits, a touch snappy, but given the news he’s shared with her… She imagines it’s justified. “There are no bargains. There is just a war. A war where you stand on the opposite side of me.” Her dark brows pinch together and she suddenly has the urge to run.

But she tries to keep her emotions in check, tries to swallow them down. “I… I need to go. Clear my head.” Her voice is soft, quiet, perhaps a bit hurt, and she finds herself stepping back and away from Deimos – staring at the snow that covers the cobblestones.

but we could be together, if you wanted to
do i wanna know if this feeling flows both ways?