The world had died.
Not recently.
Not violently.
It had simply reached the point where nothing remained.
The skies were gray.
The seas had turned black.
The forests that once stretched beyond the horizon were reduced to rotting husks, their branches twisted toward the heavens like skeletal fingers begging for mercy.
No birds sang.
No insects crawled.
No life remained.
Only silence.
A lone woman stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the corpse of the world.
White wings extended from her back, though many feathers were missing. Some were stained black, as if even time itself had begun consuming her.
Below the cliff stretched the remains of civilizations.
Broken towers.
Collapsed kingdoms.
Cities buried beneath ash.
Countless graves.
The wind carried dust across the wasteland.
Nothing more.
The woman remained still.
Her golden eyes scanned the horizon.
She knew every ruin.
Every shattered city.
Every battlefield.
Every grave.
She had watched them all die.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Her hand slowly tightened around a small metallic device.
A sphere no larger than an apple.
Cracks covered its surface.
Blue light pulsed weakly from within.
The final remaining fragment of a miracle.
Or perhaps a curse.
The woman lowered her head.
For the first time in centuries, her expression wavered.
Regret.
Pain.
Exhaustion.
How many times had she done this?
She no longer remembered.
She had stopped counting long ago.
Three hundred?
Five hundred?
A thousand?
The numbers no longer mattered.
The ending was always the same.
Different paths.