Wounds of War

Deep in the jungle, the warm light of a campfire stood out against the darkness as the sun slowly set in the distance. Overhead, a small Izam flew by, a letter attached to its delicate leg.

Tear of Serenity sat by the campfire, an old issue of the Eye of the Tyrancha News forgotten on the ground next to her. She had a steaming bowl of food in her hands - a broth of some sort with big chunks of tender meat and cratcha leaves for flavor. The Zorai took another bite of the dark meat and a smile crept over her lips as she mused:

"And the faction wars rage on, as homins battle for the natural resources of Atys. The Kamists so confident in their position of power, thirsting for more and more. The Karavanists so bitter in their desire for retribution. If only they knew…"

At that moment shadowy figures began to stir in the darkness, their tall and twisted shadows creeping on the clearing, dancing with the fires. And yet, Tear of Serenity seemed oblivious to their presence, lost in her own thoughts:

"If only the Kamists knew the true shape and size of the menace brewing inside their own homes. If only they knew the darkness that encroaches on us, threatening to engulf it all. But ahh, they will know. They shall heed my words, for these words contain the future."

The shadowy figures emerged from the trees as one, surrounding the lone Zorai and her campfire. At last, Tear of Serenity stood up, her voice cold as it rang in the darkness:

"What took you so long?!"

As the sun finally vanished in the horizon, night embraced the Witherings.
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