11/17/2025, 1:26 AM
Rune Discovery : 「 Failure 」
Silence crept like growing vines along the autumn-kissed region, a breeze so still that one could mistake its existence were it not for the breath that passed between wolves.
The world seemed to watch in careful interest as the Guardian of Courage took to the river, its polluted streams yearning for another body—another tongue, another life—for it to take. The plague’s urge was a steady reminder in the air, a weight held between shoulders, as it called, whispered, begged for the man to drink from its source.
But Mythris had seemed to pause, the plagued air shuddering to a quiet hum as another entered its scene. Broken, bloodied, but returned.
The plague watched with careful interest, not yet materialized, but curious and hungry as it fed on the fear, on the hurt, on the pain that oozed from the wolves by the river.
There was no rune to be found here.
Nothing but suffering and sorrow.
And were it not for the life lost, or the blood that marred the soil and sunk into the roots of Mythris, perhaps these wolves would have faced a different fate.
Alas, the essence of the plague merely chuckled—a sound that was nothing more than an eerie howl of the wind—as he returned his energy into the soil, into the water, and into the bloodied and rotting roots of Mythris.
Until next time.
The world seemed to watch in careful interest as the Guardian of Courage took to the river, its polluted streams yearning for another body—another tongue, another life—for it to take. The plague’s urge was a steady reminder in the air, a weight held between shoulders, as it called, whispered, begged for the man to drink from its source.
But Mythris had seemed to pause, the plagued air shuddering to a quiet hum as another entered its scene. Broken, bloodied, but returned.
The plague watched with careful interest, not yet materialized, but curious and hungry as it fed on the fear, on the hurt, on the pain that oozed from the wolves by the river.
There was no rune to be found here.
Nothing but suffering and sorrow.
And were it not for the life lost, or the blood that marred the soil and sunk into the roots of Mythris, perhaps these wolves would have faced a different fate.
Alas, the essence of the plague merely chuckled—a sound that was nothing more than an eerie howl of the wind—as he returned his energy into the soil, into the water, and into the bloodied and rotting roots of Mythris.
Until next time.