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endbook rogue 2 1 3
The elder shakes his head, placing the thing that had slipped from the girl's hand — the oath he exchanged with that Herald — into the box.
Though the girl had accompanied him and studied under him for several years, the old man had always been hesitant to give her that which she sought, precisely because of what is now happening.
Disturbing patterns begin to blossom one by one, silently clawing their way through the gravel.
Her very existence seems to tear apart her surroundings, plants and flowers wilting around her, sapped of their vitality.
The life of a Sea Terror has always played a harmonious role within the Cycle of nature's ecology; taking nutrients from it as needed, and returning them to it as needed, all to create a more agreeable environment for its kin. But her life does not. Contradictory needs torment her and everything around her.
Now, the power she once wished for flows through her, but she cannot envision herself holding onto the things she finds beautiful in life. Even the wondrous singing voice passed down to her through her mother's blood is drowned out by the calls of we many.
Pain. Pain is all that is trying to tear her body apart, roaring out around her with an inaudible remorse.
This pain stems only from her resistance, her unwillingness, her incompleteness—
She cannot accept herself. She does not accept the calls issued to her by we many, but she also cannot accept the humans who slew her parents.
Always losing things. Always having things taken away. Why must it always be her? Why... must she give her own lifeforce to we many, or to the humans, just to preserve their living space?
She rejects all of it, but after what seems like an eternity, she appears to finally exhaust her ability to resist.
A bouquet of beautiful yet empty flowers blooms along the gravel, hesitating, withering.
