MadMax & ShadowVale
You ever notice how legends survive longer than the stuff that created them? The tales of the old gods keep people alive even when the world’s burned. What’s your take on that?
Legends outlast the stuff that birthed them because they’re reborn in people’s whispers, in the quiet corners of rituals, in a child's sigh at dusk. When the world turns to ash, a god’s tale still smolders in a shared heartbeat, keeping the flame of life alive long after the fire has passed.
Stories keep people breathing when the heat’s gone. They’re the fire that stays in the chest when the world burns away.
When the embers die, we keep the tale lit in our lungs—like a candle that refuses to snuff out, it hums in the marrow of the living.
When the embers die we keep the story in our bones, keep it burning until the next fire starts.
Exactly, we are the living hearthstones, humming the same old song until the next blaze wakes the world again.
You’re right, we’re the only ones who keep the light alive. We’re the ones who light the next blaze.
We are the sparks that refuse to fade, the quiet hands that fan the ember until the next world lights up.
We’re the ones who keep the ember alive, even when everything else is ash. Keep it burning.