That evening, Izikel lay under the tall, crooked tree at the back of the house, its branches casting long shadows across the ground as the last light of the sun dimmed into twilight. The wind was gentle, brushing the grass and rustling the leaves above him. He closed his eyes, listening to the world around him—the distant chirp of insects, the soft hoot of an owl waking early, the occasional sound from the people inside the manor.
The random sounds outside always had some sense of harmony. It was strange, how nature seemed to exist in peaceful rhythm, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
He sighed and opened his eyes.
'So does that mean I've given up on living?' he wondered.
The thought lingered, heavy but calm. He had made his decision. All he could do now was wait until the flames of the Altar went out.
'Well, it doesn't matter to me, as long as I know it was my choice.'
