You learn to speak so calmly

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Different worlds, different paradigms, different factions and fractions; the Voice had snagged them from all corners of realms and possibilities, and it was bizarre to think of other notions when Deimos had only known Isilme and Helovia: invasions, skirmishes, battles, assaults, sieges, plotting, recruiting, and war. He missed some portions of it – his eyes lifting to the ceiling briefly, as if considering the parameters – but not the sovereignty, not the weight of the crown. “I miss different aspects, like the mountains or the battles. But there was no glamour.” No splendor, no dignified reach – they’d been thirsty, hungry, greedy, and avaricious, plunging headlong into melees and irreverence with either forethought or impulsivity. He inhaled another steadying breath, glance coming back down towards the sheet, unveiling boxes, and the monolith maneuvered near them, bending down to snag a box at a time, not bothering to ask what they contained. His eyes drew downward again after Bastien’s laugh; the primordial crawl of shame reeling across his nape. The rumble following was quieter, contemplative, placing the box down upon a table. “I did not have many friends,” which it probably wouldn’t take long for the Ascended to surmise; on multiple occasions, here in Caido, the heathen had been shocked and bewildered by the amount of accepting individuals. “But she was among the best of them.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace