A haunting, heavy silence descended upon the hills on the outskirts of Lamping Village. The sweet, cloying fragrance of Orchid-Ether that had saturated the air moments ago was beginning to thin, carried away by a biting cold wind. This wind bore the faint, lingering warmth of molecular evaporation—the only physical trace left of those who had been erased from existence. In the center of a lush, emerald meadow—one that remained miraculously untouched by the surrounding desolation—Dola stood like an immovable monument of ivory and steel.
