Deimos
before bones, before dirt, before even light
this is who we were
With the nod, the Sword dissipated the incantations. He would’ve walked away with that, gone to conduct the multitudes of other duties within the barracks and Halo itself, had the Forsaken not spoken again. His brow arched at the apology, and he waited, features and face otherwise inscrutable; a talent long fostered in statuesque impassivity. this is who we were
But as the explanations came, it seemed Noah still wanted to parse blame elsewhere; upon Deimos himself (for what, he had yet to figure), and Danta (who had been upon the receiving end and blows of this ridiculous multitude). How many more times did he have to explain the notions? And why hadn’t Noah understood the reactions? Did he believe himself above such reproach? Because this hadn’t been the man he’d known since arriving in Halo.
Calm and composed, if a bit disheartened accountability had already resurfaced, when the man before him seemed to take none for himself, he persisted. No apology flowed from his mouth – for he owed none. “But we did not ask you to criticize and threaten another leader. I scolded you for those actions.” Maybe there was confusion from his time spent in the Grounds, but even then, he hadn’t taken on a sovereign’s role.
this untamable expanse
churning proof that we have always been deep, restless souls
churning proof that we have always been deep, restless souls
