The Whisper
Two black wings left at dawn. By dusk, they had heard every word ever sung.
An expanded pantheon stirs
Where the old gods are given new voices.
Before the first chord, there was the void.
From the deep where all songs are born, something ancient turns its gaze upon us. The next chapter of the pantheon is being written — in a tongue older than memory, carved in sound.
The Price
True sight was never given freely. Something was traded at the well, and the water remembers.
The Gallows Song
Nine nights upon the tree. What was learned hanging there becomes the verse to come.
“I know that I hung on a windy tree… and from the depths I took up the songs — nine mighty songs.”— carved by a wanderer, name unknown
The next saga
It arrives on a Wednesday.
THE RAVENS ALREADY KNOW