The knight reached out. The skin was cold, but pliable. It felt like memory.
He had spent his entire existence being unseen. Unnoticed. A tool. A knife. A hollow thing that killed a god and felt nothing. But after the deed, after the silence fell, a new sensation had bloomed in the space where the Radiance’s screaming once lived: self-awareness. And with it, a terrible, gnawing loneliness. He was not hollow. He had never been hollow. He was just very, very good at pretending.
He was no longer in the Basin. He was standing before a workbench in a cramped, dusty workshop hidden somewhere in the City of Tears. The air smelled of glue, resin, and faint, chemical tears. And above the bench, stretched on a frame of pale, curved ribs, was a thing of horror and artistry.
The knight reached out. The skin was cold, but pliable. It felt like memory.
He had spent his entire existence being unseen. Unnoticed. A tool. A knife. A hollow thing that killed a god and felt nothing. But after the deed, after the silence fell, a new sensation had bloomed in the space where the Radiance’s screaming once lived: self-awareness. And with it, a terrible, gnawing loneliness. He was not hollow. He had never been hollow. He was just very, very good at pretending.
He was no longer in the Basin. He was standing before a workbench in a cramped, dusty workshop hidden somewhere in the City of Tears. The air smelled of glue, resin, and faint, chemical tears. And above the bench, stretched on a frame of pale, curved ribs, was a thing of horror and artistry.
