"We cannot," the Loom translated, vibrating her teeth. "We have never been small."
"Look," she commanded. "Look at a mortal who loves you anyway. Not because you're powerful. Because you're lonely. I can feel it—the silence you live in. No one to argue with. No one to surprise you. You're not gods. You're prisoners." amirah adara higher entities
The higher entities did not answer in words. They never did. Instead, Amirah felt a pressure behind her left eye—a thumbprint of pure information. A concept blossomed there: DISAPPOINTMENT . Not in her. In themselves. They were tired of being worshipped by microbes who mistook awe for understanding. "We cannot," the Loom translated, vibrating her teeth
For the first time, they felt small. Not diminished— released . The crack sealed, but not with oblivion. With something softer. Something that smelled like wet earth and burned sugar. Amirah Adara stood alone on the obsidian field, and above her, the sky was merely sky again—purple and bruised, but healing. Not because you're powerful
And the higher entities wept.
In the simmering twilight of the broken world, Amirah Adara knelt on a shard of obsidian glass, her palms pressed flat against the wound in reality. Above her, the sky had cracked like an egg, spilling colors that had no names—ultraviolet whispers and infra-low groans that vibrated in her molars. She was the last living anchorite of the Order of the Sundered Veil, and she was talking to gods who had forgotten they were dead.
In her pocket, a pebble that had been dead for eons began to grow a single, silver root.