Storms of Truth (HIATUS)

6 (Revised)

"Those aligned with the sky wish only for freedom,

"We wish only to fly, to be free and touch the clouds,

"He spoke so lovingly, so sweetly, so awed, the dragon of the sky

"'Behold as the heavens expand, ere before it disappears into the endless nothing,

"How the colours dance in the void,

"True freedom lies not in the flight, but the fall,

"I watch those stars get farther away, and believe,

"Believe that one day, I could reach those stars with my lowly wings."

~ Heretic Text: Dragon Soul of the Sky.

Falora

Temple

If only I had all the time in the world, I would spend days here. All the things I could chronicle with my pen. Every precious shard of history. The stories this place can tell me. It sent her heart alight with the promise of adventure. Vines shielded the walls of ancient history, left behind from the Age of Dragons. What I wouldn't give to have more time.

There was no time, what with the silence of the aethergines. It meant they were no longer alone on the island. Celestial Templars would swarm the temple, hunting for proof of cult activity. Falora rushed through the long tunnel with a piece of history on her heels, but she slid to a stop at a beam of light rushing through the Inner Sanctum behind them. Torchlight. Heavy, armoured footfalls echoed through the hallowed halls of an evil god's story. Of course.

Thirty seconds at the most. Falora motioned down the dark corridor. Orilion took a cautious step forward, and she rushed their pace when he faltered at the spiraling doorways into the eye of the hurricane. Maybe in one of these rooms we can wait out the Celestials templars and make a break for it. Falora tapped the wall as she went past, and when she pressed into air, she tugged Orilion forward. On her knees in the small room, she peered at the tiny pedestal which overtook the center. Her hand reached for its crystalline surface, and it hummed against her fingertips.

Echoes of the lost haunted her as she straightened herself out to peer into the heart of the storm. "What is this?" she whispered and eyed Orilion, who frowned then flicked his gaze back to the open piece of doorway they stumbled through.

Torchlight sent a shockwave through her spine as she withdrew her hand and swung her arm at Orilion, who closed the door behind him. A pulse of wind hushed through the lock mechanism and stretched to the hinges of the stone. It fell quiet as the footsteps drew closer. It fell silent right outside the door, but not a single voice thundered through the sanctum. The Templars footsteps continued on after one scuffled movement, and faded away deeper into the temple.

Shadows preserve us... Falora dared to breathe and returned her attention to the crystal orb. In the corner, Orilion hid in the shadows, pressed against the wall as he had in her closet. Falora waited for the tell-tale stomping of Celestial Templar armor, but frowned when the silence reigned instead of the storm. I'll never get another chance like this, will I? I'd be branded a heretic if I'm caught, but... Sketchbook in hand, she knelt closer to the orb to peer into the crystalline clouds. I wonder if this is some sort of scrying orb for the Gods — how priests commune with them. Every line traced with its movement in the world, she smiled down at the piece of history.

"What are you doing?" Orilion questioned.

"I'm drawing," she whispered. "It's not like I get the chance to explore an ancient temple."