Return with the Sigil of Silence

Ayola Returns

The winds around Zantrayel shifted days before she arrived.

The sentries said nothing—just stepped aside when Ayola passed.

Her robes, once pristine, now carried whispers. Her staff—older now in spirit—no longer glowed. It pulsed. It waited. The sigil on her chest was alive, etched like calligraphy made of wind.

The other four priestesses—Ayomi, Sael, Thalia, and Elis—were waiting in silence when she entered the sacred chamber. None of them spoke at first.

Then Sael, her eyes shining like pink moons, whispered:

"You didn't come back alone."

Ayola nodded. "The crossroads opened. And the wind walked through."

Zion arrived moments later. He looked at Ayola's new mark and said nothing, only placed a hand over his heart.

Then he said, "Prepare. We'll all walk into the storm, eventually."

N'Zaqiel and the Forgotten Wind

Deep in a pocket of existence unreachable by most gods, N'Zaqiel stood before a mirror shaped like a floating tear. It did not reflect his face.

It showed his absence.

Before him, stood a council of eleven.

Not gods.

Windborn—entities shaped from breath, time, and silence. Each once worshiped across lost continents.

"You broke the silence," one of them hissed, voice whistling through hollow stone.

"I fulfilled it," N'Zaqiel answered.

They gazed at the new mark etched into his body. One Windborn whispered, "She carries crossroads. You carry stillness. Together… you are something not made."

"We are what the Hive cannot devour," N'Zaqiel replied.

The eleven murmured, for the first time in eons.

A decision was made.

New Mandate of the Forgotten Wind

For the first time since the First Collapse of Worlds, the Forgotten Wind would move. Quietly. Invisibly.

But with purpose.

Three more chosen were named in the silence of that gathering.

Each would awaken soon.

The first storm had passed.

The second was coming.

And this time, it would be born from stillness and decision.