Zandir stepped back from the mural, letting the silence settle before he spoke again.
"That is how our tribe came to this island," he said quietly. "And ever since that time, we have lived here. We've explored every corner, every shore but we have never found another island."
The torch's flame crackled, its light dancing across the murals like ghosts of a forgotten age.
"The history of your tribe is... truly something else," Eztein murmured, his voice echoing faintly in the chamber. His eyes traced the sweeping murals painted across the ancient stone—gods descending, mortals kneeling, worlds being torn apart and reforged. "I never imagined your ancestor had witnessed the might of the gods."
"You... you actually believe in gods?!" Zandir's eyes widened, disbelief flickering across his face like a sudden flame.
