I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Zuriel followed and traced after footsteps, and while Belial wandered in the sky, the Sword instinctively brushed his hand over the mare’s forehead, under locks and below the horn, scratching her there as her head lowered, as worlds and words blurred behind his eyes. “Yes,” he nodded, the recollection of basilisks and caves and Remi’s kraken form vivid in his memories. Swift and certain, powers potent in the stone frameworks of other realms they hadn’t fully explored or understood. “We have some.” It might’ve been a relief, just in that instant, because there was no telling how many more were out there. “I am not certain about the Ascended though.” And in fairness, he understood why they kept it secret, furtive, close to their chests. The very same reasons those on the Old Gods side clustered and coiled.
Rebuilding wasn’t anything new – they’d done so after LongNights. After fires. After broken down Fiat Luxes. After monsters. After fallen temples. After splintered, fractured lives. “We at least have experience in that,” with a softened smirk, fingers winding their way into the unicorn’s mane, a soft sigh flickering through. I am quite lost he uttered to her in silence, in companion bonds, and she snorted; predictable in turn.
But the soldier’s head shifted back to Sah, reaching into his pockets for treats again, brows furrowing slightly, the thoughts coiling back over. “There is always something with the changing of seasons. These ones just have a countdown associated with them.” Each one closing in, quicker, faster, until the inevitable. “I am restless too,” with the need for change charging down the wide breath of his shoulders and chest.
Rebuilding wasn’t anything new – they’d done so after LongNights. After fires. After broken down Fiat Luxes. After monsters. After fallen temples. After splintered, fractured lives. “We at least have experience in that,” with a softened smirk, fingers winding their way into the unicorn’s mane, a soft sigh flickering through. I am quite lost he uttered to her in silence, in companion bonds, and she snorted; predictable in turn.
But the soldier’s head shifted back to Sah, reaching into his pockets for treats again, brows furrowing slightly, the thoughts coiling back over. “There is always something with the changing of seasons. These ones just have a countdown associated with them.” Each one closing in, quicker, faster, until the inevitable. “I am restless too,” with the need for change charging down the wide breath of his shoulders and chest.
DEIMOS
