Nothingness was mastered: neither of them grasped at potential discourse, neither of them kindled sentimental regards. They remained chained to their unrelenting purposes, fueled and incensed by a legion, a lifetime, a legacy of immoralities, loyalties, and wretchedness. Probably far too alike more than the other realized, they escaped back into their familiar positions, without posturing stories and fables and nuances not so easily shed or unearthed; perhaps, in time, the Reaper would question the Engineer on his pursuits, on his actions, and watch them reflect back upon himself. For now, they could churn into normalcy – the Weaver with his cloth, the Lord with his machinations, channeling and funneling the age-old creed of unholy malice and righteous vehemence (never spoken aloud, never clarified beyond the ancient, decrepit scales of contempt and loathing), showing pretenses and fabrications for the rest of the world to see. They’d both been built by the loss of the Edge, they’d both been strengthened by dreams and ambitions of the Plague, and now, they’d both segmented their way into the Basin’s lifeline, spilling their blood over and over again for the chilling winds and the treacherous snow. Deimos would never shirk Ulrik’s achievements or endeavors (some of the most magnificent results stood at the borders of the Basin, protective, overwhelming, watching, waiting), and he wasn’t about to do the same at this interval either. The Dragon’s Throat would know where these canvases came from, which individual spun them from his talents, which character or creature delivered and bestowed another gift at their sandy shores. The winter King took in the taller’s stag’s acceptance and affirmation, and proffered his own assurances, arching a brow in intrigue, in interest, at the potential behind Ulrik’s reply. “Thank you. Would you like to accompany Hotaru and I when we leave for the Throat?” The notion would save time for everyone; Deimos would merely have to summon the third party before they made their sojourn towards the south. What could result thereafter was another jagged piece of the puzzle the demon remained unsure and hesitant of, but the journey was something they (he - growth nearly dictated it, the Forsaken’s brutal slap of his armor prescribed it), needed to accomplish.

@[Ulrik]