From his window, Serafim watched the black sand crashing against the wall. The gusts of wind lifted the sand, which, like the waves of the sea, came crashing against the stones. Each attack was more powerful than the last and yet the wall remained intact.

Erëciar wasn't just a sandstorm. Everyone knew of their existence, but for many, it was just a myth. A tale that was told to children to make them behave. After all, the idea that an evil god could continue to haunt this world was far too frightening. However, for those at Eamon's Wall, Erëciar was real.

As soon as Aygün left the Sun in the hands of the Anasra and took the Moon, Erëciar awoke. Their winds began to blow, seeking to rise above the Sky, to reach Aygün, the one who had put an end to his reign of terror, for revenge. But the Master of the Skies was traveling in the Ær, the Median Sky, the border between Æ, the Lower Sky, and Æther, the Celestial Sky. He was thus out of reach of the winds of Erëciar, which tirelessly pursued him every night. And like every time, this god, who was only a god because of their legend, was blocked by the Eamon's Wall. And like every night, their gusts turned into tornadoes, attacking relentlessly this obstacle which prevented Erëciar from pursuing Aygün. And as always, the stones held, insensible to the power of this fallen god.

Suddenly, the wall began to glow, projecting the light of the Thousand Suns themselves. The winds increased in strength, while a howl, half-animal, half-human, mingled with those of the tornadoes. Erëciar had arrived.

Moving closer to his window, Serafim squinted, looking for that familiar figure to those who lived here. Knowing exactly what he was looking for, he easily found that grotesque figure, hidden in the shadows of the black tornadoes. 

One arm ridiculously long compared to his hunched body, struggling to stand upright with his legs too short for that oversized torso. The other arm, like the one of a man who had been dead for too long, hung limply, swaying in the wind. It was held together by flesh that had been sewn and re-sewn and was tearing with the brutal movements. Erëciar stood too far away for Serafim to see them clearly, but he remembered the writings of his ancestor.

"This distorted shape that awaited us in the center of this black ocean was even more so up close. This being was an amalgam of flesh, mixing those of our missing soldiers with those of the creatures we met during our journey. The scales of the deezarke seemed to have been planted in the body of the creature itself, in order to offer them a meager protection for their organs. Or maybe just because they liked them? Because a slit, which started from its neck to what could remind of a woman's chest, showed a row of teeth, both human and animal. The head kept inflating and deflating, the crust cracking like a bone under a war hammer. A foul odor, which only those who have lived in misery and war could know, escaped with each of its exhalations. This being, who had been a god, was now only a puppet, whose hand that moved the threads were no other than their rage. It was really..."

"A pitiful god."

"I would have more said 'pathetic.'"

"Both are equal. After that, everyone is free to choose what they prefer. If I remember correctly, Maylis calls him a ‘shitty god’."

"Poetry isn't Mother's forte."

With a snort of amusement, Serafim turned away from the window. He ignored Erëciar, who howled in rage, unable to move forward without the light of the Thousand Suns burning them.

"And so? To what do I owe this late visit, Sorley?"

With a smile on his lips and a light gait, Sorley entered the room. Like himself, Serafim wore a friendly expression, but deep inside, he couldn't help but frown. 

When Maylis had told him she had a son, he had been surprised. Not that he thought she was incapable of taking care of a child, quite the contrary. However, she was one of those people who had tried to awaken their core, and who had suffered greatly in their quest. Thus, in order to succeed in making her core active, she had to give up all hope of being able to give life. This led to the question of who Sorley was. Obviously, he had been adopted, but where did he come from? Why hadn't Maylis told them? And finally, what was his connection to Anastasyi? These were the questions he absolutely had to get an answer to.

"I understand you wished to see me, Your Nobleness. So, here I am."