[b]"Ah."[/b] My breath stills for the briefest moment.

Not at the words themselves, but at the weight they carry. To fall by one’s own kin—this is no strange thing. Betrayal is the oldest of poisons. But to endure? To endure through what this was? My gaze drifts to the ruin about us, the ashen remnants of something greater. A city once proud, now collapsed beneath unseen hands. Godly hands?

A twinge of something electric runs through my spine. Is it dread? No—something far more insidious. Fascination.

If divinity had truly played its hand here, then what traces did it leave behind? What residue lingers in the shattered stone, the scorched earth, the very air? My fingers twitch with the phantom sensation of glass vials and sharpened scalpels. What essences might be distilled from this place? What alchemical truths wait to be unraveled in the marrow of the fallen?

I step forward, slowly, gaze shifting across the ruined expanse. If one knows where to look, even death-ravaged soil may still whisper its secrets. I must collect samples—ash, bone, perhaps even the blackened remnants of once-pure metals. If these ruins were shaped by divine will, then perhaps...

Perhaps I may refine it.

And what then? A cure? A weapon? Or something greater still?

My lips curl, though whether in amusement or something else, even I am unsure.

A sound. No—a wound upon the air itself.

It rakes through the stillness, unnatural, warbling, shifting as though it does not belong to a single throat but to a chorus of unseen things shrieking through the veil. It digs into my skull, claws against the frayed edges of thought, demanding to be acknowledged. K̴͉̫̘̖͎̣͚͈͖͗̀̒́̄͐͌̒̚͘͜͠r̴̨̛̳̞̝͇̂̈́͌͘͘͝͝ē̵̡̪͇̫̟͈͕̥̣͖͚͚̱̖͛̚͠ͅȩ̷̞̅́̍̔̏̈̈́͘̚͝e̴͕̤͗͒̓̄͋̀̔̉̕͝ȩ̴̡̡̧̦̺̫͈̱̱̱̣̝̠̿̾̏͆ͅę̶̙̼̘̺̝̣̜͍͈̻̭̓̔͐͊̌̍̈́͒͐̎́̚̚e̷̢̥̞̠͕̰̙̻̥̫͚͙̿͗̊́͜ȩ̵̗̟̘͗̕͜ͅe̵̼̖̱̖̰͕̳̹͌̒̑͊́̎̀̋̕͜͜a̶̡̪̯̭̹̳̎͗̾̈́̊̒̽̇ͅů̸̢̫͎̖̱̈́̽͜g̸̡̛̦͍̲͖͔̿̽̈́ͅh̸͙̦̹̙̙̉̓̐̎͐͆͊̈͝!

My fingers tighten into a fist. Not in fear. No, the cold, mechanical gears of my mind have already begun to turn, dissecting the unknown, sifting through possibility. Analyze. Adapt. Survive.

But knowledge comes second to survival.

I am no warrior. I do not stand on the front lines to be torn apart like the lesser-minded brutes who believe steel alone will carry them through. No, my weapon is foresight. My armor, calculation.

I glance at my surroundings. The remains of the city hold potential—a battlefield of my own making. Dust chokes the air, the bones of the fallen litter the ground, and alchemical residue lingers in shattered vessels and scorched foundations. Given the right catalysts, given time—ah, but time is a luxury I do not have.

My mind races, formulating.

Smoke and obfuscation? No, the creature moves as if it does not rely on mere sight.

A lure? Possible, but what does it desire? Hunger, rage, instinct—if I can understand its drive, I can exploit it.
Transmutation? The components here are volatile; with the right reaction, I could alter the terrain, create barriers, shift the battle in my favor.

I step back, not out of fear, but out of necessity. Let them draw its attention. Let them be the first to test its nature. I, meanwhile, shall prepare. Observe. Gather. And when the moment is right...

I will reshape this encounter to my design.