"They forsook their thrones and fled the firmament, yet named me heir to the ruin. Mine is not a voice of divinity, but the echo of what divinity could not hold."
Long before empires rose, the Speakers held the balance between gods and mortals-until...
The night enveloped me in its damp embrace, the rain falling in relentless sheets that blurred the world into a watercolor of grays and blacks. Each drop struck like a tiny hammer, the sound a constant percussion against the earth, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and the faint, acrid tang of ozone. The ground beneath my boots had transformed into a slick, treacherous mire, yet I stood unmoving, as if the storm itself had rooted me to the spot.
My cloak clung to my back, sodden and heavy, the fabric chafing against my skin with every subtle shift. The cold seeped through, gnawing at my bones, but it was the weight of my thoughts that truly chilled me. The turmoil in Sephtis, the clash between Keres and Yoongi—it all swirled in my mind like a storm of its own, each memory a jagged shard of glass.
I closed my eyes, not to escape the rain, but to listen—to the rhythm of the downpour, to the distant rumble of thunder, to the silence that had settled in my chest. Time had become irrelevant; it could have been minutes or hours since I had taken this stance. The world around me had faded into a blur, leaving only the cacophony of the storm and the quiet tumult within.
Memories of Sephtis haunted me. The faces of those I had failed, the cries of the fallen, the burning cityscape—all replaying in vivid detail. And at the center of it all, the enigmatic figure of Yoongi, his presence both a comfort and a curse. I had sought him out, believed in his power, but now I questioned everything. Had I been blinded by hope? Or had I simply been desperate for a solution?
A gust of wind swept through, sending a shiver down my spine. I opened my eyes, the world still a blur of rain and shadow. Yet, in the distance, I thought I saw a figure—a silhouette against the storm's fury. My heart skipped a beat. Was it him? Or was the storm playing tricks on my weary mind?
I took a step forward, then another, the mud sucking at my boots, the rain pelting my face. Each movement felt like a battle, each breath a struggle. But I pressed on, driven by a need to confront the questions that plagued me. What had truly transpired in Sephtis? What role had Yoongi played? And most importantly, what was I willing to sacrifice to uncover the truth?
The storm raged on, indifferent to my inner turmoil. But I no longer cared. I would face whatever awaited me in the tempest's heart.
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The rain fell relentlessly, each drop a cold, biting reminder of the night's unforgiving nature. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and the sharp tang of salt, as if the very heavens wept for the tragedies unfolding below. I stood amidst the downpour, my cloak clinging to my frame, the fabric heavy with water, offering little protection against the chill that seeped into my bones. The ground beneath me was a mire of mud and puddles, each step a squelching testament to the storm's fury.
