The gates of the Academy loomed before Lumark, a towering structure of crystalline metal and polished stone. The intricate carvings etched into the arch told stories of Alantus's history—of triumphs, tragedies, and a unity that seemed far more myth than reality. Above the gates, an inscription in the ancient Oreah script read:
"Knowledge is strength. Strength is unity. Unity is all."
Lumark's escort, a young Oreah attendant with a curt demeanor, motioned for him to step forward. "The First Elder has already departed. He trusts you'll carry yourself with dignity," the attendant said, her tone neutral but sharp enough to leave no room for missteps.
Lumark nodded stiffly. He clutched his pack tightly, its weight unfamiliar but grounding. Beyond the gates, the Academy's sprawling campus shimmered in the light of the Dome. Towering buildings of crystalline glass and stone stretched toward the artificial sky, their facades reflecting the lush greenery of the surrounding courtyards. Pathways lined with glowing blue stones wove between lecture halls, dormitories, and training arenas.
He had imagined this place many times before—its grandeur, its history—but seeing it in person left him both awed and uneasy. The Academy was unlike anything he had seen in the Norg lands.
As he stepped through the gates, the first thing he noticed was the silence. Despite the dozens of Oreah students moving between classes, there was no chatter, no laughter. Conversations were hushed, their tones measured and deliberate. It was as though every step, every word, was part of a carefully orchestrated performance.
Lumark's presence didn't go unnoticed. The moment he entered, heads turned, whispers followed. Oreah students paused mid-step to glance at him, their gazes lingering on his towering frame, his pale blue skin, his silver eyes.
"Another Norg," someone murmured.
"Seven now," another voice added.
Lumark straightened his posture, forcing himself to ignore the stares. He had been warned about this by the First Elder—that his presence would be scrutinized, questioned. But knowing it and experiencing it were two very different things.
The Hall of Unity
The attendant led him to the Hall of Unity, the largest and most imposing building on campus. Its arched entrance was flanked by statues of Diniir, the goddess's faceless form carved from black obsidian. Inside, the hall opened into a vast chamber illuminated by ethereal blue flames that hovered in mid-air, casting an otherworldly glow on the marble floor.
"This is where all new students are inducted," the attendant explained briskly. "You'll wait here until the Dean arrives."
Lumark stepped into the chamber, his boots echoing softly against the marble. The room was nearly empty save for a handful of other students seated on benches along the walls. two of them were Norgs, their pale blue skin a sharp contrast to the Oreah attendants who flitted about the room.
One of the Norgs, a broad-shouldered boy with short-cropped silver hair, caught Lumark's eye and nodded in acknowledgment. Lumark returned the gesture and made his way to an empty seat near the back of the chamber.
As he sat, he couldn't help but study the other Norgs. They varied in age, though none appeared older than twenty cycles. Their expressions ranged from wary to defiant, their postures stiff under the weight of the Oreahs' watchful eyes. Lumark wondered if they felt the same unease he did, the same sense of being an outsider in a place that wasn't built for them.
Before he could dwell on the thought, the sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber. A tall Oreah man in flowing robes entered, his presence commanding immediate attention. His robes were dark green, trimmed with gold, and his hair was the color of pale sunlight.
"Welcome," the man said, his voice smooth but firm. "I am Dean Tharun. This Academy exists for one purpose: to prepare the next generation of leaders for the challenges of our time."
His gaze swept over the room, lingering on the Norgs for a fraction longer than the others. "You are here because you have shown potential, but potential is nothing without discipline. You will learn the ways of diplomacy, strategy, and governance. You will be tested—not just in skill, but in character."
Lumark felt the weight of Tharun's words settle over the room like a heavy cloak.
"Failure is not an option," the Dean continued. "Unity demands strength, and strength demands sacrifice."
He gestured toward a side door. "You will each receive your schedules and dormitory assignments. Welcome to the Academy."
The students rose and followed the attendants through the door, their footsteps muffled against the marble. Lumark lingered for a moment, his gaze drawn to the statues of Diniir. The faceless goddess seemed to watch him, her presence both comforting and unsettling.
The Norg Dormitory
The dormitory assigned to the Norg students was located on the edge of the campus, its architecture simpler and more utilitarian than the grand structures at the center of the Academy. The building was small, its walls of polished stone unadorned save for the symbol of the First House carved above the entrance.
Inside, the dormitory was sparse but functional. Each student was assigned a private room, the furniture plain but sturdy. Lumark unpacked his belongings in silence, his mind racing with questions about what lay ahead.
Before he could lose himself in thought, a knock at the door drew his attention. He opened it to find the silver-haired Norg from earlier standing in the hallway.
"I'm Drekk," the boy said, his tone blunt but not unfriendly. "Figured I'd introduce myself before the Oreahs start working us to death."
"Lumark," he replied, shaking Drekk's outstretched hand.
Drekk leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. "You're the youngest, huh? Must be weird being thrown into all this."
Lumark nodded, unsure how to respond.
"Don't let them get to you," Drekk said, his voice lowering. "They'll test you, push you, try to make you feel like you don't belong. But you do. We all do."
The words were meant to be reassuring, but they only deepened Lumark's sense of unease.
As Drekk left, Lumark closed the door and sat on the edge of his bed, the whispers of the Academy swirling around him.
Somewhere in the distance, faint but unmistakable, he thought he heard the whisper of the wind.
The Academy grounds were vast, a labyrinth of interconnected pathways and towering structures that seemed to stretch endlessly under the Dome's shimmering light. As Lumark wandered through the main courtyard, the chatter of Oreah students hummed around him like a constant undercurrent. He felt their stares, their curiosity and caution unmistakable, though they quickly turned away when he met their gaze.
It was on his second day at the Academy that Lumark spotted her again. Kaelith stood near the edge of the courtyard, her dark green robes perfectly tailored, her golden hair catching the light like a halo. She was deep in conversation with another Oreah student, but her sharp eyes flicked toward him the moment he stepped into the clearing.
She excused herself from the conversation and approached him, her steps measured and deliberate.
"Lumark," she said, her tone carrying an air of familiarity, as though they were old acquaintances.
"Kaelith," Lumark replied, inclining his head slightly.
She studied him for a moment before gesturing toward a nearby bench shaded by a cluster of glowing vines. "Walk with me."
Lumark hesitated but eventually followed, his long strides matching her graceful pace. They sat in silence for a moment, the soft hum of the courtyard providing a strange sense of intimacy.
"How are you finding the Academy so far?" Kaelith asked finally, her voice even.
"It's... different," Lumark admitted. "Not what I expected."
Kaelith's lips curved into a faint smile. "It never is. This place has a way of unraveling expectations."
She tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing slightly. "The others—the Oreahs—they're not making it easy for you, are they?"
Lumark shrugged. "I didn't expect them to."
Her gaze lingered on him, assessing. "You don't strike me as the kind to back down. That's good. You'll need that strength here."
There was something about her tone—an edge, a weight—that hinted at unspoken truths.
"You said your father is Commander Vigge," Lumark said, steering the conversation away from himself. "What's that like?"
Kaelith's expression flickered, a brief shadow crossing her features. "Demanding," she said simply. "He has... expectations."
"Expectations?" Lumark prompted.
Kaelith hesitated, as though weighing her words. "My father believes in loyalty. To the Oreahs, to the Academy, to Alantus. But loyalty... it has a cost."
Her voice dropped slightly, her next words barely above a whisper. "Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth paying."
Lumark studied her, the guarded look in her eyes hinting at a deeper conflict. He wanted to press further, but Kaelith's posture shifted, her walls snapping back into place.
"What about you?" she asked, her tone lighter now, almost teasing. "What does the First Elder expect of you?"
Lumark thought for a moment before answering. "To lead. To be strong. To represent the Norgs with honor."
Kaelith arched an eyebrow. "And how's that working out for you so far?"
Lumark smirked faintly. "It's a work in progress."
Kaelith laughed, a soft sound that felt out of place in the rigid atmosphere of the Academy. "Fair enough."
Their conversation was interrupted by the toll of a distant bell, its deep chime signaling the start of the next lecture. Kaelith stood, brushing imaginary dust from her robes.
"Duty calls," she said, her tone laced with irony. "See you around, Lumark."
As she walked away, Lumark couldn't shake the feeling that their conversation had barely scratched the surface of something far more complex.
The Shadow of Vigge
Later that evening, as the campus settled into its nightly rhythm, Lumark found himself drawn to the library once again. The quiet, dimly lit space offered a reprieve from the day's constant scrutiny, its shelves lined with ancient tomes and holographic records that seemed to whisper secrets of the past.
He wandered through the aisles, his fingers brushing the spines of books he couldn't read, his mind still replaying his conversation with Kaelith.
It was then that he overheard voices coming from a secluded corner of the library.
"You're taking too many risks," a voice said, low and tense.
"We have no choice," another replied, sharper this time. "If the supply chain falters, everything we've worked for will collapse."
Lumark froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He edged closer, careful to stay hidden behind the towering shelves.
"The humans are growing restless," the first voice continued. "They want more, and we're running out of excuses."
"We'll find a way," the second voice snapped. "We always do."
Lumark leaned forward, straining to catch more of the conversation, but the voices began to fade as the speakers moved away. He caught a glimpse of their retreating figures—Oreah men, their robes marked with the insignia of high-ranking officials.
His mind raced. Humans. Supply chains. Risks. He didn't know what it all meant, but the weight in their voices made it clear that whatever they were discussing, it wasn't something the Academy—or Alantus—wanted widely known.
As he stepped back into the main aisle, his thoughts swirling, the faint whisper returned.
"Unity," the voice said, softer than before but no less chilling.
Lumark turned sharply, his silver eyes scanning the shadows, but the library was empty.
The Academy had an unsettling stillness at night. The crystalline walls, which shimmered during the day, took on an eerie translucence under the faint light of the moon filtering through the Dome. Lumark couldn't sleep, his thoughts tangled with fragments of the hushed conversation he had overheard earlier.
The whispers about humans, risks, and supply chains gnawed at him. He had tried to dismiss it as Oreah politics, something far removed from his purpose at the Academy, but the urgency in their voices suggested otherwise.
Unable to shake his unease, Lumark found himself wandering the empty corridors once more. The library drew him in like a silent call, its towering shelves and shadowed corners offering both refuge and intrigue.
He moved carefully this time, his steps light against the polished floor. The library was supposed to be empty after hours, yet as he approached the secluded corner where he had overheard the voices, he saw a faint light spilling out from around the shelves.
Slowing his pace, Lumark pressed himself against the cold surface of a shelf, peering around the edge.
There they were: Dean Tharun and a ranking Oreah officer dressed in the deep blue-and-gold robes of Commander Vigge's retinue. They stood close, their voices low but sharp, their postures tense.
"I told you," the Dean said, his tone barely restrained. "This isn't sustainable. The more you demand, the closer we come to exposure."
The officer crossed his arms, his expression cold. "The Commander doesn't care about your excuses. His orders are clear: the shipments must continue. Do you understand what's at stake here?"
"What's at stake is my reputation," the Dean snapped. "If this leaks—if anyone so much as suspects—we'll both lose more than our positions."
The officer leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Your reputation means nothing if Alantus falls. The Commander is trying to prevent a war, and sacrifices must be made. You're not the only one taking risks."
The Dean's jaw tightened. "And what of the humans? Do you think they'll stay silent forever? They're already restless."
"That's not your concern," the officer said dismissively. "Just ensure the Academy remains... cooperative."
There was a long pause. Lumark held his breath, the tension between the two Oreahs palpable.
Finally, the Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Very well. But if this fails—if even a whisper of it reaches the wrong ears—you'll answer to more than just the Commander."
The officer smirked faintly, his confidence unwavering. "It won't fail. You'd do well to remember who you serve, Tharun."
With that, the officer turned and left, his robes billowing as he disappeared into the shadows. The Dean remained behind, his expression dark as he stared at the floor.
Lumark's mind raced. Humans. Shipments. The Academy's cooperation. The conversation was laced with implications he couldn't fully grasp, but one thing was clear: whatever they were involved in, it wasn't meant to be known.
As the Dean began to move, Lumark ducked further into the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. He waited until the Dean's footsteps faded before slipping out from his hiding spot.
The library felt colder now, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Lumark's breaths came in shallow gasps as he retraced his steps toward the exit. But just as he reached the main aisle, the whisper returned.
"Unity," it said, clearer this time, like a voice speaking directly into his mind.
Lumark froze. The library around him seemed to shift, the walls flickering like a mirage. The glowing flames that illuminated the room dimmed, their light flickering as though struggling to stay alive.
"Who's there?" Lumark called out, his voice echoing in the stillness.
There was no answer, only the sound of the wind—soft, cold, and unrelenting.
"Unity," the voice repeated, louder now, more insistent.
Lumark turned, his silver eyes scanning the shadows. And then he saw it—a faint figure, barely more than a silhouette, standing at the far end of the library. It had no face, no discernible features, yet its presence was undeniable.
The figure raised a hand, pointing toward Lumark, and the room around him seemed to dissolve. He was no longer in the library but in a vast, empty expanse of black water. The surface beneath his feet rippled with every step, the horizon stretching endlessly in all directions.
"Lumark." The voice came again, echoing across the water.
He turned, searching for the source, but the space was empty.
"What do you want from me?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.
"You must see," the voice replied, its tone both soothing and ominous.
Before Lumark could respond, the water beneath him began to ripple violently. Images rose from its surface, fragmented and disjointed—visions of chaos and fire, the Trinity standing amidst a storm, the Nerhu clutching her child, the Commander's insignia burning against a backdrop of destruction.
And then, a final image: Lumark himself, standing alone in the ruins of Aqurna, the whispering wind swirling around him like a shroud.
"Unity," the voice said one last time before the vision shattered.
Lumark gasped as he found himself back in the library, his knees buckling beneath him. He gripped the edge of a shelf for support, his breaths coming in ragged bursts.
The library was still again, the flames steady, the air quiet. But the weight of what he had seen lingered, pressing against his chest like a physical force.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint hum of the Dome above. Lumark awoke to the sound of a soft knock at his door. He rubbed his eyes, still haunted by the fragments of the vision from the library, and shuffled to open it.
An Oreah attendant stood in the hallway, her golden robe immaculate. In her hand was a silver tray holding a sealed letter adorned with the sigil of the Nneurha.
"This is for you, Lumark of the First House," she said, her voice even but polite. "It has been sent to all dignitaries and their heirs. You are expected to read it immediately."
Lumark nodded, taking the letter with a sense of unease. As he closed the door, he turned the envelope over in his hands, the wax seal pressing into his palm. The intricate symbol of the Rha's house glinted faintly in the morning light.
Breaking the seal, he unfolded the parchment. The handwriting was precise, the message formal:
To all members of the First Houses and their appointed heirs,
You are cordially invited to attend the ceremonial promotion of Commander Vigge to Admiral of the Fleet. This prestigious event will be held in the Grand Hall of Aqurna Palace, presided over by the Nneurha and Nerhu.
The ceremony will be followed by a feast celebrating the Admiral's achievements and the strengthening of Alantus's unity. Attendance is not only expected but required.
May unity guide us all.
Signed,
Prince Varek, Brother to the Nneurha
Lumark's eyes lingered on the last line. Prince Varek. This was the first mention he'd heard of the Rha's brother, though he had always known the Oreahs held family ties close. The name carried weight, a shadow of authority that seemed to echo through the words.
He folded the letter carefully and set it on his desk. The idea of attending a formal event in the palace, surrounded by Oreah nobles and military leaders, filled him with both curiosity and unease.
Later that morning, Lumark made his way to the Academy's training grounds, where Drekk was sparring with another Norg student. The clash of wooden practice blades filled the air, accompanied by the occasional grunt or sharp instruction from the overseer.
Drekk noticed him standing at the edge of the ring and grinned, wiping sweat from his brow as he approached. "You look like someone dropped a Grosk in your breakfast. What's wrong?"
Lumark held up the folded letter. "You get one of these?"
Drekk nodded, his expression darkening slightly. "Yeah. My father was already gloating about it last night."
"Your father?" Lumark asked.
"Lord Lapatti," Drekk said, his tone flat. "He's been pushing for Vigge's promotion for years. Thinks it'll put him in the Rha's good graces."
Lumark frowned. He hadn't realized Drekk's father held such a prominent position among the Norg lords.
"What about you?" Drekk asked, his silver eyes narrowing. "What does the First Elder think of all this?"
Lumark hesitated. "I haven't spoken to him about it yet. But I doubt he'd approve."
Drekk snorted. "Figures. The First Elder's never been one for Oreah politics. My father, though? He thrives on it. Spends more time in Aqurna than in our own lands."
The frustration in Drekk's voice was clear, and Lumark felt a flicker of understanding. They weren't so different, both navigating the expectations of powerful fathers while trying to find their own place in the world.
"So," Drekk said, leaning against the edge of the ring. "You going to this thing?"
"Do we have a choice?" Lumark replied, his tone dry.
Drekk laughed, the sound genuine. "Not really. But hey, at least we'll get to see what the Oreahs look like when they're trying to impress each other."
The Introduction of Prince Varek
The Grand Hall of Aqurna Palace was more resplendent than Lumark remembered, its domed ceiling shimmering with new constellations crafted from glowing gemstones. The long tables were set with golden platters and crystal goblets, the air filled with the soft hum of a hundred whispered conversations.
Lumark entered alongside Drekk and the other Norg students, their presence a stark contrast to the Oreahs in their flowing robes and polished armor. The room quieted slightly as they passed, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing down on them.
Near the head of the hall stood Commander Vigge, his uniform pristine, his expression calm but proud. Beside him was a man Lumark immediately recognized as Prince Varek.
Varek was striking, his features sharp and refined, his golden hair tied back in a simple but elegant style. His robes were a deep crimson, edged with black and gold, and his piercing green eyes seemed to see everything at once.
"Prince Varek," an Oreah dignitary murmured, bowing deeply.
Varek acknowledged the bow with a faint smile before turning his attention to the room at large. When his gaze fell on the Norg delegation, his expression didn't change, but Lumark felt the intensity of it all the same.
"This ceremony," Varek began, his voice smooth and commanding, "is more than a celebration of one man's achievements. It is a reminder of the strength and unity that bind us all. Commander Vigge has served Alantus with honor, and it is with great pride that we elevate him to the rank of Admiral."
The hall erupted into polite applause, though Lumark noticed the measured nature of it. For all the ceremony, there was an undercurrent of tension in the room, a sense that not everyone shared the same enthusiasm for Vigge's promotion.
As the feast began, Lumark and Drekk found themselves seated at a table near the edge of the hall. Plates of golden meats and glowing fruits were placed before them, but Lumark's appetite was overshadowed by his thoughts.
"You notice how the Rha's not here?" Drekk muttered, his voice low.
Lumark frowned. He hadn't noticed at first, but Drekk was right. The Nneurha's absence was conspicuous, especially at an event of this magnitude.
"Strange, isn't it?" Drekk continued. "His own brother presides over the ceremony, and the Rha doesn't even show up."
Lumark nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to Prince Varek. The Oreah leader moved through the room with practiced ease, exchanging words and smiles with dignitaries and officers alike. But there was something calculated about his movements, something that made Lumark's unease deepen.
The feast was well underway, the hum of conversation filling the Grand Hall. Plates were exchanged, goblets refilled, and yet, Lumark couldn't shake the unease that had been simmering since he first read the letter. The absence of the Nneurha, the muted applause for Commander Vigge, and the way Prince Varek seemed to command the room—all of it painted a picture of unity that felt carefully staged, as though the slightest shift might cause it to crumble.
Seated beside Drekk, Lumark picked at his plate, his appetite overshadowed by the growing tension. Drekk, too, seemed distracted, his sharp eyes scanning the hall as though searching for something—or someone.
"Any sign of him?" Lumark asked quietly.
Drekk shook his head. "None. But he'll show. The Rha doesn't miss these things, no matter how much he might want to."
As if on cue, the massive doors at the far end of the hall groaned open, their sound cutting through the chatter like a blade. The entire room turned, and an expectant hush fell over the gathered dignitaries
The Nneurha entered first, his presence commanding the air itself. He was a towering figure, his pale orange skin glowing faintly in the light of the hall. His golden robes were simple but immaculate, a sharp contrast to the more ornate attire of his brother, Prince Varek. Beside him walked the Nerhu, her emerald-green attire shimmering as if woven from the very light of the Dome. Her pale orange skin seemed to glow faintly, her expression serene but unyielding, like a blade hidden in velvet. And following behind them, came the First Elder, his steps steady, his expression unreadable.
The First Elder moved with the quiet authority of a man who didn't need to announce his power—it was evident in the way the room seemed to part for him.
The three moved in perfect synchrony, their unity unspoken but evident, a symbol of the fragile balance between the Norgs and Oreahs.
As the trio entered, the hall erupted in applause, though Lumark noted the subtle differences in its tone. The Oreahs clapped with measured precision, their gestures deliberate and restrained, while the Norg delegation's applause was quieter, more respectful than celebratory.
The Nneurha and Nerhu took their places at the head of the room, flanking Prince Varek. The tension between the two brothers was palpable, though neither showed it openly. The First Elder, meanwhile, moved toward the Norg delegation, his gaze scanning the table until it landed on Lumark and Drekk.
As the applause faded, Varek stood, his crimson robes catching the light. "Let us welcome the Nneurha and Nerhu," he said, his voice smooth but edged with something unspoken. "Their presence reminds us of the unity that binds us all, the foundation upon which Alantus thrives."
Lumark watched the interplay of glances between the Oreah leaders, his unease deepening. This wasn't just a ceremony—it was a stage, and every word, every gesture, carried weight far beyond its surface meaning.
As the ceremony continued, Lumark caught sight of Kaelith once more. She stood near the edge of the hall, her golden hair catching the light as she spoke to a group of Oreah students. Though her posture was relaxed, her gaze occasionally flicked toward the Norg table, lingering on Lumark.
Their eyes met briefly, and Kaelith excused herself from her group, weaving through the crowd until she reached him.
"Lumark," she said, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of familiarity. "Settling into palace life yet?"
"Trying to," Lumark replied, glancing at the opulence around them. "Not exactly like home."
Kaelith smiled faintly, her green eyes narrowing slightly. "Few places are. But I suppose that's the point of places like this—to remind us how small we are in the grand scheme of things."
Her words carried a weight that Lumark couldn't ignore, and he found himself studying her more closely. "You don't sound convinced."
Kaelith hesitated, her expression guarded. "Conviction is complicated," she said finally.
Before Lumark could press further, one of Kaelith's friends called her name, the urgency in their tone pulling her attention away.
"I should go," she said, her voice soft. "But we'll talk again soon."
As she disappeared back into the crowd, Drekk leaned closer, his smirk returning. "You've got an interesting way of making friends, Lumark."
"Not sure if 'friends' is the right word," Lumark muttered, his eyes still on Kaelith.
As the evening wore on, the First Elder approached their table, his expression as steady as ever. He rested a hand on Lumark's shoulder, his gaze flicking briefly to Drekk.
"You both did well tonight," he said, his voice low but firm.
Drekk raised an eyebrow. "Sitting quietly counts as doing well?"
The First Elder's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "It does when silence speaks louder than words. In a room like this, restraint is a skill most fail to master."
Lumark nodded, though he couldn't shake the tension that had settled in his chest. "Do you think this unity they talk about is real?"
The First Elder's expression darkened slightly, his silver eyes narrowing. "Unity is a fragile thing, Lumark. It exists not in words or ceremonies but in the actions that follow. And actions, as you'll learn, often reveal more than intentions."
He paused, his gaze sharpening. "Remember this: in a room full of masks, trust only what you can see for yourself. And even then, question it."
Before either Lumark or Drekk could respond, the hall began to quiet once more.
The Admiral Rises
Commander Vigge stood slowly, the weight of his new rank evident in the way he carried himself. His uniform gleamed under the light of the hall, the newly adorned insignia catching the eye of every dignitary present.
The room fell into a heavy silence, the anticipation almost suffocating. Lumark straightened in his seat, his mind racing with fragments of the whispers he had heard in the library and the visions that still haunted him.
Vigge's gaze swept across the room, his expression calm but unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, each word deliberate.
"This rank is not a reward," he began, his tone carrying an undercurrent of warning. "It is a responsibility—a burden that I accept for the sake of Alantus and the unity we hold so dear."
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire hall was holding its breath.
And then, faint but unmistakable, Lumark felt it again: the whisper of the wind. It brushed against his skin, cold and foreboding, carrying with it the echoes of something vast and unseen.
The Admiral continued, but Lumark's attention drifted, the whisper growing louder in his mind, the weight of its meaning pressing down on him like a tidal wave.
And then came The Silence.