Larksong Grotto it's a march to extinction with your god in step

what he expected did not come. instead, prophet lay his bare soul on the table for examination. typhon acknowledged this with a low hum and a dip of his head.

at the next proclamation, indignation pierced through his guarded heart, surging upwards where it pounded in his head.  he released a metered breath in response as his lip flattened.

perhaps, he replied, i do not know what you were told. but that much was obvious.  i met with ratio.  we discussed the structure of the rise at length.  but he said something that troubled me; that i would be commanded by one of two men.

it felt like trouble could crack the fault line at any moment, leading to an earthquake of historic proportion. 

i served as a legionnaire on the front lines of my birthplace. war, and the perpetrators of it, have robbed me of my future. i will not succumb to same mistakes as my forefathers.  one sliver of soul for another.

he cleared his throat.

i apologized and tried to excuse myself. my intention was to dispel my shock and come to you so that i could discuss what my future in the rise would look like. i told him this. ratio would not have it. i asked to be dismissed so i could gather myself. ratio would not have it.

i do not know what crime he had crafted for me, but privacy was all i sought. i told him if he would not allow this small respect, i would have to leave.

and he had.

i did not want it to be this way. an unspoken apology in the softness of his gaze.