In the darkness, there is a rustle of wings. There is a stir of whispers.

"Do you see it?"

"Do you hear it?"

"They are singing your name."

"They are reading your prayers."

In the darkness, there is an opening of eyes, and the darkness is replaced by uncounted lights.

"The storms are awakening."

"And the heralds have returned to nest."

One voice speaks out, louder than the rest. "Perhaps..."


"Perhaps it is time that we returned."

"They have not seen us in some time."

"But they remember us. They miss us. They crave the warmth of our glory."

There is a hum of assent. Then, one light becomes a darkness, wraps itself in shape. "I will be the first."

Somewhere in the brilliance, the gods shed a collective tear, in farewell for the brightest of their company.


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