Amael sat in silence upon the jagged crown of a mountain, a lone figure against the endless sky. His posture was still, almost meditative, his eyes closed as if retreating deep within himself. The faint breeze tugged at his hair, carrying the scent of damp earth and wild greenery from the jungle sprawling far below. His expression was calm, but thoughtful.
Two conversations lingered at the front of his mind, both of them shaping him in ways he hadn't expected.
The first was with Nevia—or rather, shown by Nevia. To call it a talk was generous; she hadn't uttered a word, instead laying fragments of memory bare for him to see. A one-sided exchange, yet one that had left its mark.
