Taros' corpse rested in a body bag, towed by a guard eager to finish his task. To burn it in the crematorium.
The man roamed a dark, seemingly endless path, until he reached the fiery contraption. As the journey concluded, he felt the corpse's weight decrease—lighter than a bag of feathers.
"Weird damn Eprenists," the guard cursed and tossed it into the fire. There was no sound after, no crackle of blaze: simply ear-grating quiet.
…
The winds spontaneously roared; lightning hovered within the clouds. A deathly precursor to a looming storm. Nature's fury unabated.
Buildings toppled, roads were torn into two - exposing deep chasms. Every pedestrian, panic filled their eyes, crawled to cover.
This world's storms came with righteous force, dwarfing anything humanly possible. The imminent presence of Aêther at work.
Eventually, it spread to an empty, dark park. Its trees and bushes barely fought against the storm's relentless onslaught.
