DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Had the Sword, or the Reaper, ever been an impartial witness? Perhaps once or twice in his life, amongst the lines of things that didn’t directly affect him or his people, but it’d always been few and far between. Seething on the edges of skirmishes, stalking in the hollows of shadows, a broadening, intimidating faction on his own – striving to ensure no one in his wake suffered needlessly. But they still had, no matter his attempts, and vengeance had usually come swift, keen, blunt, straight to the point, into the muscle and bones of the perpetrator. But that had been Isilme. That had been Helovia. Caido had become an altogether different game for him to wander within: murky, veiled, shrouded, and sometimes he felt he lost the notions altogether, struggling and striving to grasp onto the tethers that resounded the most.
His family. His friends. His loved ones. Openly cherished, and they slid and slipped away despite his best efforts, despite protection and promises –
And it hurt deeply, to extend himself blindly, willingly, into circumstances that couldn’t be salvaged.
Deimos swallowed it down once more, as Kiada began to retreat, as time shifted and he freed her from his embrace. The beast wished he could’ve grabbed hold of her cheeks, squeezed them until she resembled a fish, that there were ways to go back and undo so many god damned things and moments (beg her not to go into the Climb), but then she would’ve never stretched her wings. Then she would’ve never become stronger. Then she would’ve been stuck just the same. So he clenched his jaw and looked down at the stones, before tilting his head, ensuring that saddened, piercing gaze locked on her. “I will.” Solemn and distorted, a quiet, diminished, anguished oath; uncertain if anything would come of it. But he'd never kept anything from her either.
His family. His friends. His loved ones. Openly cherished, and they slid and slipped away despite his best efforts, despite protection and promises –
And it hurt deeply, to extend himself blindly, willingly, into circumstances that couldn’t be salvaged.
Deimos swallowed it down once more, as Kiada began to retreat, as time shifted and he freed her from his embrace. The beast wished he could’ve grabbed hold of her cheeks, squeezed them until she resembled a fish, that there were ways to go back and undo so many god damned things and moments (beg her not to go into the Climb), but then she would’ve never stretched her wings. Then she would’ve never become stronger. Then she would’ve been stuck just the same. So he clenched his jaw and looked down at the stones, before tilting his head, ensuring that saddened, piercing gaze locked on her. “I will.” Solemn and distorted, a quiet, diminished, anguished oath; uncertain if anything would come of it. But he'd never kept anything from her either.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
