"The twists of fate are as curious as the winds. They carry the colours and essence of various souls across distance and time and circumstance for memories and emotions to be sought out of a distant loved one; it could be the gifts of a dear mentor, a broken friendship that seeks repentance or even the unknown message of a bygone soul to his descendant."
~
Secret Cell of the late Knights,
Under-Ground Dungeons,
Kingdom of Tristendyre,
The Second Sunday of the Second month,
Year I of the Era of Tristendyrian Revolution
"Nay, sirs; they are not herein"
Imogen stood there, hearing Crescence' voice, in the distance, leading the men away from her. She glanced at Michavel whose eyes were trained on her, but he remained silent, expression distant, pensive and unreadable.
