The Shattered Sky does not forgive. It does not forget. It waits, patient and eternal, for the choices of mortals who dare to carry what was never meant for them. I have walked among gods, wielded fragments of fire, water, clarity, and shadow—and each has left its mark upon me, unseen yet permanent.
I have survived trials that would have shattered ordinary souls, yet I feel the fragments pressing against me, reshaping thought, bending will, whispering truths I am not yet ready to hear. With every pulse, I sense the slow creep of corruption—not overt, but insidious, a shadow behind every decision, a temptation behind every mercy.
I have seen fallen deities, gods who lost themselves to their own pride or sorrow, and I have glimpsed my own reflection in their ruin. Each trial has taught me courage and compassion, but it has also shown me that power exacts a price—and that price is not always visible until it is too late.
Some call me hero. Some whisper I am bridge and savior. But even as I speak these words, I feel a seed of doubt. The fragments are alive. They remember the gods who wielded them before. They hunger. And perhaps—one day, when my heart falters, when mercy becomes weakness—they will demand more than I am willing to give.
The Age of Gods continues, but the world itself trembles beneath the weight of ambition, mortality, and divine will. I am Eryndor, and I have chosen the path of endurance, of mercy, of courage—but I know the shadows linger. Every choice carries consequence, every act echoes beyond the realm of men.
I do not know if I will survive the next trial, or the one after. I do not know if the fragments will save me—or consume me. But I do know this: the Age of Gods will not wait for the faint of heart, and neither will the Shattered Sky.
I am the bearer of fragments, the bridge between realms, and the world watches, waiting for the day when my choices will either light the heavens… or burn them to ashes.