[Training] I still don't want to be here

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The more amusing notion was that Deimos had never gone looking for other magic. He hadn’t sought out its granules, fibers, or mettle. He hadn’t plucked away at elements. He hadn’t chiseled out any components. They’d merely come to be within his being – absorbed in his veins, traversing and travailing until he noticed them, until he sensed them, until they were a part of him, carved, sculpted, and sketched right into his very being. “Sometimes the magic is simply there.” He had theories; presumed some were family inheritance and legacies, fine-tuned in the wealth of blood and power – fire from his father, water from his mother – the rest were confounding, confusing, or completely unknown, foreign, until they flickered and beat against his bones. “Through experiences and growth.” He shrugged, uncertain beyond that – and sometimes the world merely defied expectations, and had no explanations for the roots, for the stems, for the leaves. With the shingles suitably replaced, he gathered up the remains, his gloves, and began to slowly descend down the ladder, waiting for Sah to follow through and join him along the ground. Zuriel narrowed her eyes at him, and he proffered naught to the unicorn but an incredulous smirk, before settling in back to the topic at hand with the other man. “Yes.” He’d yet to be here for Deepfrost – he’d always been tucked away in the Grounds, preparing for another hellish LongNight. “There is plenty of game along the tundra.” With some other dangerous beings immersed and intertwined across the ivory canvas; to be expected. “You can always practice on the ningos.” He pointed to a flock of birds above; fat, white, and dim, watching as they landed nearby; unfortunately a popular choice for his antics lately. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace