Weeks turned into a month, marked only by the slow crawl of diffused light across Aethelgard's hidden sky.
Kairen remained by the waterfall, a small, unmoving figure against the backdrop of thundering chaos.
The roar had become the fabric of his world. It was the first sound upon waking, the last before sleep claimed him. It filled his dreams, echoed in the silence between breaths. He no longer fought it. He no longer tried to block it out.
He simply listened.
He sat for hours, days, letting the overwhelming sound wash over him, through him. He learned its rhythms—the subtle shifts in tone as the wind changed, the deeper resonance when the flow grew strongest after rain.
He surrendered to its immensity, seeking not silence, but clarity within the noise.
