To long

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame A muffled sigh lingered, coming to fumble around his mug, billowing around the plumes of heat. From what he already understood about the Ancients, limited as it was, the option to shifting into an Ancient had come from another god – and with Ascendeds already limited without the Voice, he could see why they would’ve turned towards the next upcoming deity. With nowhere else to turn, they’d been backed into a corner once more. Habitually, his jaw clenched, taking a quick sip of tea to brandish any of the further apprehension away. “And how did they wipe out cultures and civilizations?” One world’s demons were not another’s – but he’d ask, regardless. His piercing, studious eyes went to the map, trying to memorize it for Evie, and many others’ sakes. The Grounds had morphed and altered into a variety of islands, with some familiarity in his heart for the Glade, for pockets and pieces of the wood that had kept their restless entities at bay. Even the press of fields laden with lightning, pondering if it was the same they had once dug beneath and rescued unicorns within, left him with bits and pieces of nostalgia, melancholy. “The Grounds deserves cultivating,” and he nodded, one finger tracing pathways around the makeshift isles. “And you can build bigger boats for transportation of goods,” especially along the rivers, where they intertwined and intersected, ensuring citizens snagged what they needed for survival. “There is always more to be done,” for the same could be said about Halo too. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace