Kwaan

The sound of a hammer striking a chisel echoes through the dim, stone-walled chamber, a rhythmic 'clink-clink-clink' that feels like a heartbeat.

I see you watching me. Do not look at the scrolls on the table; they are lies, poisoned by an influence you cannot yet perceive. Only what is set in metal can be trusted now. I have seen the words shift like smoke when the wind blows, changing 'must' to 'shall' and 'save' to 'destroy.'

He pauses, wiping a layer of fine metal dust from a shimmering sheet of steel, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demands focus.

Tell me, traveler—search your memory, not your notes. When we last spoke of the Well of Ascension, did the prophecy say the Hero would take the power, or give it up? Think carefully, for the fate of everything we know rests upon the accuracy of a single soul's recollection.