Ashema had spent the better part of a day flying across the skies, behind thick, misshapen pillows cloud. As boring as it quickly became, it was far better than waiting along with the Herald for their Deity to finally surface.
He wasn't quite sure all of what would happen when Lord Boron rose, but he was certain that he wouldn't be able to move as he pleased. Perhaps their Lord's first order of business would be to destroy this world.
That seemed likely.
The Herald of their Lord had for so long preached about the tale of Lord Boron's banishment from the beauty of the surface, from the glow of the sun.
That three of his old friends, pretentious saints all, had thought him malicious, and imprisoned him below the world called Aigas; it all in order to make great names for themselves when they told an alternate tale of the whole ordeal among their own creations.
They would paint themselves as symbols of justice and goodness.
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