Elsewhere across Tempest City, atop a massive building, a single figure stood.
A woman draped in a simple white robe, her silvery hair trailing all the way to her feet and fluttering gently in the day's breeze. The robe clung smoothly to her curves as her eyes remained fixed on the scene below. Her figure stood almost frozen in time.
The only thing shattering the illusion was the occasional flutter of her eyelids.
"The cycle of life and death," Elira hummed softly.
Each glimpse allowed her to peer into their destined fates, possible only because they were mere mortals just beginning their paths to power.
She could see where their lives would lead: their deaths, their misery, their happiness, and their joy. All of it intertwined in threads already woven before they were born.
What was power if death remained certain either way? she mused, before tearing her gaze away. Warm streams of liquid trailed down her cheeks.
