The small girl whispers in the wind —
A prayer for a true spring that is absent of liars and tyrants;
An older man, who’s likely her father, hums an ancient aria.
The aria is a song of old; the prayer of peace and the end of both fire and shadow. It’s the hope that these weary golden trees may bless the land with life once more; the assurance that the bewildered may suffer no more. It’s the certainty that ashes cease to ride with the wind.
The little girl, with her sapphire hair, experiences a jade green aura that blesses her body with strength as she sings along with her father the aria of spring. Their hope for better days is what keeps them together.
No matter how cold the world is. No matter how cruel the lands may be — peace is all they long to invoke.
Their world’s suffering has already reached its peak, as both fire and shadow have strangled the world which they rule in — leaving it blanketed in ghostflame never-ending.
They’ve lost enough and so much. The winter has been insufferable for ages. Their dream of spring is all they have.
The closing hours simply have a small girl and an older man humming the aria of spring — over a land barren from ghostflame with nothing but a ringed city and a slain falcon perched over.
