Fie on you all! Your words are wind.
Burn and topple, shatter and rend.
See, the Sun sets, and Never rises again.
~ excerpt from 'The Delicate Maul of Bright Shadows', author unknown
***
Darkness fell. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, a billion other stars bloomed, their brilliance no longer eclipsed. In the city, the man-made stars flickered to life, a string of lights hung across the skyline. There had been a time when night had signaled the end of the days business, but now it was only the beginning. London rose anew, an entire population waking to a twilight dawn.
At the edge of Kensington Gardens, on the bank of the Serpentine, a young woman knelt, seemingly in prayer. The words she spoke were heard by none other than the God's to whom she whispered; her presence was little more than a shadow in the soft ripples of the lake water. She clasped her hands together tightly, as if trapping the very essence of her faith in the space between her palms, so that he would not slip away into the ether before she had finished her solitary sermon. When at least she seemed content, she held her hands up to the moon above. From within her fingertips, a fine cloud of ash – only minutely visible to the naked eye - drifted down to the dark waters of the Serpentine, and sank beneath the surface.
From the opposite side of the lake, a lone silhouette watched, though cast no shadow. He muttered his own prayers, to the Old Man of the Mountain. He looked to the East, to far-off Alumut. Only in vengeance can peace exist, the scriptures said. He would have his peace and the blessing of Haqim would be upon him. Where once he stood, then there stood nothing – and so began the Fall of London.
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