P.S.: Contains a lot of info dumps and me trying to sound poetic. ○|￣|_
You can just skim the parts that feel too flkajndfalfnl;fnkalf;aldjk....(I know you get it. o_o)
[Actually, forgive me. Please skip this chapter. The next one is the actual one. I reformed it.]
He did not leave at once.
When the seed cracked inside him and the blade of shadow formed in his hand, the world outside had not yet recovered from the lightning.
People whispered. Someone bent over him. Pain and cold and the small, brittle sounds of the waking came like a gentle drizzle.
For indeed, the rain poured after the lightning.
Aramith, however, did not want the waking world with its complexities.
Not yet.
He wanted the ruin. He wanted the silence that had always hummed beneath the clatter of living things. He wanted the place that had first whispered to him in childhood and then been stolen away by lies and lids and soft hands that pretended to soothe.
A world that was his, but had been cut off.
