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Sylphy had lived an ideal life of relaxation and ease, born with power that could rival the gods, yet never allowed to truly blossom. That was the truth of her life—and her death.
Not even for a moment had anyone here considered the true nature of this war, or the powers far beyond their reach that they had always believed they could somehow grasp and possess.
They had all been fools. Clowns dancing for beings so far beyond their comprehension that there was no hope left but to stand still and accept their deaths.
They were not even worms. They were specks of dust. The greatest beings above them—the ones who truly held power, the ones who truly mattered—were so far beyond their scope that there was nothing they could do.
This was the truth.
This was reality.
This was the world. This was the universe.
Dark. Cold. Cruel.
