Darrow Of Lykos Quotes

If you're watching, Eo, it's time to close your eyes. The Reaper has come. And he's brought hell with him.

Sevro." I lean forward. "Your eyes..." He leans in close. "Do you like 'em?" "Bloodydamn. Did you get Carved?" "By the best in the business. Do you like 'em?" "They're bloodydamn marvelous. Fit you like a glove." He punches his hands together. "Glad you said that. Cuz they're yours." I blanch. "What?" "They're yours." "My what?" "Your eyes!" "My eyes..." "Do you want the eyes back?" Sevro asks, suddenly worried. "I can give them back." "No!" I say. "It's just I forgot how crazy you are." "Oh." He laughs and slaps my shoulder. "Good. I thought it might be something serious. So I'm prime keeping them?" "Finders keepers," I say with a shrug.

Cassius lets his helmet retract and winks at me. His face is harder than when we first met. But every now and again there’s that twinkle in his eyes, like a light inside a far-off tent, making you feel warm even though you’re still outside. And I am outside. He thinks I don’t see how wounded he is. How I’m a replacement for the brother Darrow of Lykos took from him in the Institute. Sometimes he looks at me and I know he sees Julian. A small, selfish part of me wishes he just saw me.

That gulf that divided us is still there, filled with questions and recriminations and guilt, but that's only part of love, part of being human. Everything is cracked, everything is stained except the fragile moments that hang crystalline in time and make life worth living.

If you're watching, Eo, it's time to close your eyes.

I see why Demokracy is illegal. First comes yelling. Frustration. Indecision. Disagreements. Ideas.

I don’t want to do this. I can’t explain how badly I don’t want to hurt Julian. But when has what I wanted ever mattered? My people need this. Eo sacrificed happiness and her life. I can sacrifice my wants. I can sacrifice this slender princeling. I can even sacrifice my soul. I make the first move toward Julian. “Darrow …,” he murmurs. Darrow was kind in Lykos. I am not. I hate myself for it. I think I’m crying, because my vision is unclear.

I would have lived in peace. But my enemies brought me war. My name is Darrow of Lykos.

I knew it was my duty to my own legend to survive this trial. But I was still crippled by my own devices. Imagine me as a great fully-rigged man-of-war. Four masts, great bulwarks of oak and five score cannon. All my life I have sailed smooth seas and waters that parted for me by virtue of my own splendor. Never tested. Never riled. A tragic existence, if ever there was one. “But at long last: a storm! And when I met it I found my hull . . . rotten. My planks leaking brine, my cannon brittle, powder wet. I foundered upon the storm. Upon you, Darrow of Lykos.” He sighs. “And it was my own fault.” I war between wanting to punch him in the mouth and surrendering into my curiosity by letting him continue. He’s a strange man with a seductive presence. Even as an enemy, his flamboyance fascinated me. Purple capes in battle. A horned Minotaur helmet. Trumpets blaring to signal his advance, as if welcoming all challengers. He even broadcast opera as his men bombarded cities. After so much isolation, he’s delighting in imposing his narrative upon us. “My peril is thus: I am, and always have been, a man of great tastes. In a world replete with temptation, I found my spirit wayward and easy to distract. The idea of prison, that naked, metal world, crushed me. The first year, I was tormented. But then I remembered the voice of a fallen angel. ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven.’ I sought to make the deep not just my heaven, but my womb of rebirth. “I dissected the underlying mistakes which led to my incarceration and set upon an internal odyssey to remake myself. But—and you would know this, Reaper—long is the road up out of hell! I made arrangements for supplies. I toiled twenty hours a day. I reread the books of youth with the gravity of age. I perfected my body. My mind. Planks were replaced; new banks of cannon wrought in the fires of solitude. All for the next storm. “Now I see it is upon me and I sail before you the paragon of Apollonius au Valii-Rath. And I ask one question: for what purpose have you pulled me from the deep?” “Bloodyhell, did you memorize that?” Sevro mutters.

In another world, Mustang would never be a warrior, would never be cruel. In any world Victra would always be this. Always too wild and full of fire to find peace in anything else.

All lies are better served with a hefty helping of the truth" - Darrow of Lykos; Morning Star.