He was not brave. He was simply empty. The Dominion had taken his mother, his father, his sister Miren—all turned to singing glass in the holds of slaver ships. After a while, terror becomes a dry well. You cannot draw water from stone.
He stood on the edge of the Shattered Horn, the smallest and most desolate of the floating isles, watching the void churn below. Around his neck hung a broken tuning fork—the Tol-Sen —the only relic of his tribe. The others were gone. Turned to glass. Shattered. Absorbed into the Whispering Wind that had devoured his homeland three cycles ago. kawaks
"The story where the last Kawaks is not the end," she said. "It's the beginning." He was not brave
He was not brave. He was simply empty. The Dominion had taken his mother, his father, his sister Miren—all turned to singing glass in the holds of slaver ships. After a while, terror becomes a dry well. You cannot draw water from stone.
He stood on the edge of the Shattered Horn, the smallest and most desolate of the floating isles, watching the void churn below. Around his neck hung a broken tuning fork—the Tol-Sen —the only relic of his tribe. The others were gone. Turned to glass. Shattered. Absorbed into the Whispering Wind that had devoured his homeland three cycles ago.
"The story where the last Kawaks is not the end," she said. "It's the beginning."