Whispers of Existence

Previously

…The sunlight, when it finally broke through the canopy of ancient trees, felt alien, almost too bright, too innocent. The familiar woods surrounding the ruin seemed to hold their breath, as if in deference to the slumbering power they concealed. Back in Alistair’s cluttered study, the journal lay on his desk, a dark, potent artifact. The familiar stacks of books and papers seemed suddenly insignificant, quaint relics of a world that no longer felt quite real. He poured two glasses of amber liquid, his hands still not entirely steady. "To seals," Clara said, raising her glass. It was a toast