Before the storm

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

The Sword had spent most of his morning hours prepping what he could, a few last hunting spells, intending to maintain a steady supply despite the overwhelming amount they already had (it could always be preserved for a later juncture), and utilizing the remains of his woodpile outside, lugging the timber back and forth into the residence and placing them before the hearth. Before long he’d built a sturdy fire, kept it going throughout the day, feeding the flames into a sanctified atmosphere they (what a foreign concept; when a year ago it’d been empty and vacant and just him; arches of desolation and some odd satisfaction in the isolation – simple, but not content, just a slide of familiarity in a strange new world) could maintain until the last possible moments. Zuriel lingered before the fireplace now, curled and coiled, content, while the wind echoed a throng outside, pending snowstorms, age-old primordial reminders of a time, of a place, where the constant winter had been something they cherished. With Amalia still at the bakery, he occupied himself with other tasks, stretching some assemblage of armor across his kitchen table, a just in case measure, calculations never a far reach from his mind, endeavoring to grant them to someone. Given enough hours, he might’ve accumulated a fair number of piles of looped, linked chainmail, or solid steel braces, aligning them to perfection, meticulous and fervent in his machinations. However, there was a knock on the door. Zuriel tilted her head, lazily considering, before lowering her cranium altogether; so not an impending threat. Who would be here amidst the brewing, brimming storm? Amalia, Kiada, Hotaru, nor Rexanna would bother rapping their knuckles upon the door, inviting themselves within immediately – so his thoughts roamed to either strangers or acquaintances, seeking to find the General. Perhaps someone who required an item? More than once he’d proffered his weaponry skills to the general public; and even though Remi easily outmanaged him in that regard, maybe the alchemist had been busy, and Deimos was the only one left to ask. Out of utter curiosity, he rose from his chair, confident steps striding through the aperture, opening it to glance down – At Jigano. He hid his surprise behind well-practiced nonchalance, the reticence unfolding along his eyes, his jaw, before either widened in befuddlement or slackened in shock. In actuality, he wasn’t certain how he was supposed to react. They’d worked around one another recently, between perch building, meetings, and LongNight tasks at the Monster Hunter’s Guild, afforded themselves politeness, but nothing of what it once was – tenuous and tempestuous at best. The beast’s breath was steady and composed, but the rest of him was confused. “Jigano,” he noted by way of introduction, opening his door to allow the man through. In another time, he might’ve left him to stand out on along the intervals of snow and chill; a more rapacious Reaper wouldn’t have spared him a glance. “What brings you here?” Maybe Amalia? That contortion would make more sense – but then, given the time of day, the Sage wouldn’t understood to head to the bakery first. His brows furrowed slightly, but that was all, as he shut the door behind them. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate