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Beneath the scattered skies
Author: Jaysin
last update2025-11-04 22:54:46

The mountain breathed beneath the stars.

Wind moaned softly across its cliffs, carrying the faint smell of burning cedar and the dust of forgotten prayers.

The Ancient One stood at the mountain’s peak, his robe rippling like twilight.

The fire from Kila’s burial still smoldered in the distance, its embers painting long shadows against the rock.

He had waited three sunsets.

And Marco had not returned.

The sky above him pulsed faintly, colors shifting like dying flames.

He closed his eyes, whispering words older than kingdoms.

His voice trembled with both age and power, an echo of the first language.

“Spirits of stone, rivers of memory show me the path of the lost flame.”

The air rippled.

A brief shimmer faint, ghostly and then nothing.

No vision, No echo, No sign of Marco.

The Ancient One sighed deeply. “The world grows quieter,” he murmured to himself.

“And the silence is never a good omen.”

Footsteps crunched behind him.

A voice, soft yet resolute, answered, “You called for
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  • The Ember’s call

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