Ashen was the sky, the stygian clouds. Azures tainted, starry blues blotted and blotched. No divinity, its prior natural grace, just gloom and death.
The smoke still burnt. The Nêtheric forces still festered. Lands seemed to cry, mourning, as vapor exuded from crevices.
An earthen soil scarred and besmirched. Aêtheral laws broken—sundered, violated to soothe destructive emotions.
It all ended as foretold… in destruction.
"I have fulfilled my promise, Ragnör."
Alistair slowly revealed—in the fogs—standing over a carcass nailed down by his sword.
"I lived and you have departed. All your plans and schemes, dead, alongside this grave."
The wind chilled, scratching against his skin.
"But, I don't feel right, I feel empty—cold inside," he said, his breathing rougher and sharper.
"An enemy, I'll never forget. A better reason to chase my goals as fast as possible... Thank you."
