The silence settled thick around them, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves far above, and the tiny chirping of Dee.
If there was wind, it was soft enough to go unnoticed. If there were birds or insects, they kept to themselves, and if the world cared about their presence, it made no sign of it.
Miles stood still, his hand extended forward, waiting for the faintest tingle of energy, of connection, of anything. He reached inward again, this time with every ounce of focus, calling not on weapons or Artifacts, but on his [The End] Story fragment.
And still, nothing happened. No thundercrack of narrative, no glint change in how Miles saw everything around him, no whisper in his bones.
"… It's gone…" He muttered, his shoulders slumping down in quiet frustration.
Sarissa didn't respond at first.
