In this life, I live in a city built atop broken ruins.
The people believe the structures came from gods, not ancestors. They do not remember building anything.
I walk among them, quiet, unnoticed, listening to echoes that only I can hear.
The stones remember. Mana clings to them, whispering forgotten spells through heat and cold.
I do not teach them. It is not my place. But I catalog every rune, every trace of what they once knew.
When the time comes, I will write a new chapter from their silence.