The dusk was beginning to settle in, a stark reminder of the coming of night, and the things that go bump within it. Yet despite the many horrors of the unknown chittering around in the veil of nighttime, Shabuto traversed the blackened land unabated. The murk of the swamp hindered him not in the ...

The storm was a symphony of destruction, and Shabuto was its conductor. Rain lashed down in silver sheets, and lightning tore the bruised purple sky, but he felt none of it. He was the eye of his own hurricane, a point of lethal calm amidst the chaos. The power thrumming through him was a song he ...

Shabuto said nothing, not immediately. He wasn't sure what to say; his body was consumed with emotion, feelings that words couldn't do any justice to describe. A screaming vortex of grief, fury, and a hollow loneliness so vast it threatened to swallow the storm itself.

So he did not speak.

He ...

Shabuto’s eyes traced the sharp, familiar script. He read in silence, the howling of the wind the only sound for a long moment. His face remained a mask of stone, but a single tear traced a clean path through the grime on his cheek, a final, saltwater tribute to a love that had died.

Well? Grixas ...

“This is it,” he whispered, resolve coursing through him. He pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest, revealing a space filled with shadows and echoes of the past.

Inside, everything remained unchanged. The fire pit in the center, the worn mats scattered about, the gentle light—once ...

The vivid memories of laughter and warmth among the Venkage faded behind him like echoes of a dream, bittersweet yet necessary. He cherished the days beneath the starlit skies, surrounded by the very kinship he had longed for, but on this day, he had chosen a different path—one infused with a fire ...

At the sun's first light, he left them all behind. It was a... heart-rending choice to make. Having so suddenly been immersed in the very thing he had yearned for was like finding an oasis after traversing a desert alone and battered. The weeks he spent amongst the other Venkage were more than a ...

Azul started swaying back and forth, bounding lightly on the balls of his feet, light breezes skating across the floor with each step. The Saltare dances of the Venkage grew over the generations as movement disciplines and styles of storytelling ingrained in the history of each island of the ...

The question hung in the air, shimmering with the weight of true freedom. Azul's eyes, calm and expectant, held none of the demands Shabuto had known his entire life. What he wanted to do. The sheer alienness of the concept made his heart lurch. For a lifetime, he had been a tool, a pawn, a survivor ...

"No Saltare, but you can craft Mistral from bone?! Quite the talent indeed! Cyrus must have gotten a pretty penny for you." Azul chuckled, examining the design and style of the dagger. Many of their tribe who were gifted enough to be able to work with Mistral did so through their sweat or hair ...