🩸 Journal Entry 052: Breath Held in Umbrion
Date: 2200.04.12 Transcribed from the reflections of Sister Aethyra following the Vespers of Revelation.
"And lo, when the last hymn dimmed and the candles wept, we did not exhale. We waited." — Canticle Fragment, Nightspire Archives
The streets of Umbrion do not stir. Even the fountains seem caught mid-breath, their waters arrested in the ritual stillness that now blankets the capital. Not for fear. Not for doubt. But for reverence.
The faithful call it the Silence of Thresholds — the stillness that comes when one age halts, and the next has not yet found its breath. From palace halls to hollow cathedrals, we hold ourselves in suspension.
The Veinwright hums in anticipation. The Bloodlit Grace stands readied for communion with the void. The Synod has not reconvened — not yet. Their voices wait behind crimson veils, where futures are named in secret.
I saw her — Saedra Vireth — walking the Hall of Maps alone. Not in state. Not in command. But in contemplation, her fingers grazing the edges of unsung systems. As though tracing what we had not yet earned.
Some say the stars pulse more dimly now. Others say they scream. Either way, the wind over the Umbral Spires has begun to shift.
Something moves beneath the surface of stillness.
“Wait with me,” she said, eyes locked not on me, but beyond the dome. “This breath will end. And when it does, we will speak in fire.”
