The sun was a pale, indifferent witness to the wreckage on the black sands of
the Whispering Coast. It hung high in the sky, a sphere of washed-out gold that
offered no warmth, only a flat, clinical light that made the world look like an
old photograph left to bleach in the rain.
I lay on my side in the sand, my cheek pressed against the gritty, salt-crusted
earth. My lungs felt heavy, as if I were inhaling wet wool instead of air. The
first thing I noticed wasn't the sound of the ocean or the cries of the gulls;
it was the Silence.
For months, my body had been a vessel for a symphony of cosmic frequencies. I
had felt the tectonic grind of the Earth-Pillar, the searing roar of the
Sanguine Dawn, and the oceanic weight of the Tide-Mother. My blood had hummed
with the resonance of ten thousand wolves. Now, there was nothing. No thrum. No
heat. No connection.
I felt hollowed out, a bell with the clapper ripped out.
