DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
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?”
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
The rising of the horns, ahead
