Still following orders. Still no skin in the game.
The forest floor has memory. Sometimes, it rises to look back.
Drawn to puddles, gutters, and fleeting joy before the sun returns.
They smile often — but their eyes rarely follow suit.
Stone forgets nothing. When rinsed, how will it remember you?
Some fires light the world. Others just watch it, quietly.
They call it a demon. He calls it the reminder of a price yet to be paid.
...the sea itself dreams in pieces, and the Tideborn is one such dream.
