Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
While Deimos had a short-lived time as Warden, that had been done purposefully, and he’d been very clear about the matter with Morgan, before everything else had come tumbling down. If the Sword had anything to say about it, Noah would remain, but given the parameters of how the world shifted, he knew better than to make such an overt statement. Might, dominion, and strategy could go much farther than delusion. “As long as Halo remains strong,” he reconciled, watching as Belial maneuvered in a quick dash through the sky, chasing after some stray birds.The General’s gaze meandered to the dragon though at the statement; a sense of his own keen apprehension at the plight of a companion. “I am not certain what makes them turn,” other than heartache, pain, torment, or a committed sense of duty – to protect and guard even those they couldn’t feel, couldn’t cherish, couldn’t bond to any longer. Souls once intertwined, then ripped apart at the seams, might have been enough to sever any remaining rationality. “I hope the same for mine,” and he glanced towards the adrift peryton and the proud unicorn, already feeling the tug of restlessness lingering in his bones again.
Shifting his attention back to Tal, with an arch of his brow and the wry grin coiling back into place, the rumble of his tones echoed the goading challenge once more. “Ready to head back?”
