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The world shatters into a thousand voices screaming at once.
I’m drowning in memories that aren’t mine—centuries compressed into heartbeats, lifetimes bleeding together until I can’t tell where one ends and another begins. Flesh becoming stone. The singing that held them together through the change, voices raised in harmony even as their bodies crystallized into an eternal stillness. The satisfaction of watching Shattara’s fragments arc across the sky and deflect harmlessly away, their barrier working exactly as planned.
Then the slow passage of time. Years becoming decades becoming centuries, consciousness trapped in stone but still aware, still watching. Still hoping.
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