Grief can shatter the soul when left alone. But when shaped, it can become a weapon. After the storm that tore his world apart, Eldi, son of a sculptor, searches for what remains. What begins as mourning turns to obsession; what begins as weakness hardens into the will to control. The Escentum call it purpose; others whisper madness.

The silence that follows the storm is never empty. It listens, waits, and bends to those desperate enough to be heard. In the Northern city of Delan, grief begins to take form, its touch lingering in stone and blood alike.

And when the time comes, he must not ask whether he is permitted, but whether he can live with the form of his creation.

Because silence does not forgive.
It does not end.
It only waits, waiting to be shaped.