A muted hush pervaded the darkness as a shadow-clad figure stared into his cradling hands, the uncannily long fingers clenched about a stone. Hundreds and hundreds of years had passed, reflections saw state turned upon state; faith, resources, and long-forgotten grudges fuelling the daily squabbles. Amidst the visions are glimpses of a jungle-claimed city; a great, gleaming bay; and a roiling scene of lava.

Speaking aloud to one, or many, unseen, the creature at the reflection intoned, "The young have grown old." His cold voice filled with a sinister satisfaction.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Summary: Something watches.


Penned by My hand on the 23rd of Daedalan, in the year 704 AF.