Duskfire Glacier lluvia

faust’s ears twitched as she spoke, and the shift in her tone did not go unnoticed. the kaan, so often silent in the wake of other voices, allowed hers to linger in the space between them. when she met his gaze, bold and burning, he did not look away.
i was wrong, he said simply, not one for poetic regret. “i thought you were mated to akavir. a pause. you are not.
his gaze dropped to the earth for a breath, then lifted again—harder, older. darukaal is haunted, he admitted. the nordic gods, the old ones. they breathe in the cracks of the glacier. they ride the winds through the trees. you feel them when it’s quiet.
he looked past her, to the sharp edge of the horizon. but they do not speak to me. perhaps i do not want to listen.
a beat.
gods did not help me when i needed them. when the south came with fire, when my mother burned. the weight of those words sank like stones. i learned not to wait for their mercy. i built darukaal with my own hands, not with prayer.
his eyes met hers again, searching. but you speak like someone who has heard them. do they still answer you, silvertongue?