The eyes of Asteroath that were once twin stars blazing with unmatched radiance were now dim embers. His glorious wings were gone, and only their shadows remained in the air. There was only a single feather left that drifted towards his cooling body, and Nyxara closed her fist around the falling feather.
Her hands were shaking as rage filled her to the core. She squeezed the feather, but she did not absorb it, not yet. Turning her gaze, which held sorrow and indecision, to her siblings, Nyxara did not see the Primordials they had become; instead, she saw children whose parents and their entire world saw them as curses.
The seven of them were siblings by blood, and every time their mother was giving birth to them, the moon above turned blood red and caused rain of blood and poison all through their world. This sight had driven their parents mad, and their people had cursed them, for their births always led to the deaths of millions.
