Altar of Twilight ᓯᕐᓚᔪᖅ

his gaze, stone-carved beneath the flicker of cloudlight, did not waver. not even at her name, not even at the chant of winds that circled and stirred.

i am.
a pause, shaped by the weight of what he did not say. the quarry around them breathed in silence, cradling the quiet like a sacred thing.

but not for something. someone.

his voice was hoarse—low as frost cracking beneath heavy feet. his eyes drifted to the sky, not in reverence, but in remembrance. callyope. her name lived in the hush that followed, unspoken but ever-present.

then, almost like an afterthought, he asked,
why did the winds bring you?