As the haze of the pre dawn dances and coalesces in the purple night Braz looks across the wide crimson forest.
Is it the meeting with the Oracle or Yarla's intervention? He is unsure. But this dawn, more than any in the last month is rising with a promise, a prayer, with prophecy.
And then it hits him. Despite being named after the Lady of the Rising, Mytros obscures the dawn. Not physically, although it is hard to find the correct place to see the full majesty of daybreak, it is obscured from the soul.
But there is no stillness as life pauses and waits. No relief from the cold clutches of night. No "before" or "after" in a place which doesn't stop.
With this dawning realisation Braz sits and meditates on what has led them to this moment. He completes the full ritual of morning promise. Not the quick, performative version he has been executing with a hangover in the Siren's Roost but a clear-headed full ritual to Mytros, God of the dawn. The incense is burnt, the bell is rung, the chant is repeated.
The haze of the future offers some direction and clarity for the long and difficult day ahead but more, the ritual sharpens to a point the desire, the will, the need to see the tyranny of the Titans fall. Her siblings seem to be ineffective in bringing peace to the world but Braz knows that across Thylea, Mytros does it every morning.