Desreal: CRAWL FROM THE WRECKAGE ONE MORE TIME; ANY

The stillness hasn’t changed; it’s the content of it, the latent implications of the omnipresent silence.

Where once there was tranquility, dark shadows fading with gentle ease into the contours of the emerald leaves, there is now a deathly quietude. Somewhere echoes the rumbling thunder of a summer storm, drawing inexorably closer in the form of nimbus clouds on an indigo horizon. The heat lays like an oppressive veil over the near-desolate forest.

Of course, with the descent of Andarin into chaos and re-ascent under a young king and shard-holder, Legend’s manifestation of chaos cannot himself be too far away. He has seen the rise and fall of nations, watching with an air of detached apathy, knowledge, glimmers of solemn satisfaction. This is no different. He wanders the forests of Desreal in quiet contemplation, a jet-black shade like a phantom between the boughs of the trees. Pale eyes are affixed on nothing.

He wonders who is still here. Who has fled, who has moved to either help or hurt the rent nation.

He wonders about Elemmire. Fenrisulfr. There are others, too, whom he hasn’t seen in ages.

Primarily, though, he wonders what foolish new creatures Legend has attracted – there is a certain lupine purpose to his stride. Chaos on the wind from the Mountains crackles against his skin, shuddering with the bright and entropic electricity that he wraps himself in.

It drives him like adrenaline, intoxicating.

Kurai has been subdued for too long; he has returned, with a directionless vengeance and an ancient need for destruction.