on the borders of safety

DEIMOS

the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness

With less duties and responsibilities, the monolith still applied himself. The rituals and routines were nearly the same; save for bowing his head near those he’d once commanded and taught, extending nods of prowess before turning to his own corner. Or that he followed the guards along routine watches, instead of leading them. Or that he spent hours organizing the shields, the metal, the armaments, within the armory until something within wanted to break. Foolishness and selfishness had bled into his veins and he’d paid the price for vengeance.

So sometimes he slid out and away from the Citadel; where his cranium didn’t waver so low, where his shoulders didn’t hunch, where there was still some air of strength beyond stoicism. Where he could stand tall and strong. Where he could unfurl the weight of his frustrations, where he could hunt with relative ease, where there were mere moments and instances of nothing but the endless damned snow, and he could pretend, could imagine, a time where he hadn’t been so naïve.

With a pair of rabbits dangling in his palm, Zuriel presiding behind him in her haughty wake, and Belial up ahead, it didn’t take long for any of them to notice a familiar outline (though the second wasn’t – the peryton immediately called to it in either a threat or trill of surprise). The Sword sighed, but proceeded, persisted, tilting his head as he neared the daughter of Safrin. “Seren,” a deep rumble, with the semblances of curiosity interwoven. “Back so soon?”

for the space they take
and so, neither shall I