The weight of the silence that followed the salute was more oppressive than the boom of the explosion. Hundreds of people, their foreheads pressed against the soot-blackened floor, were waiting for a word from a "Saviour" who felt like he was barely holding onto his own skin.
The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of fists against chitin armor was a sound that vibrated not just in the air, but in the very marrow of Sol's bones. He stood motionless amidst the soot of the pulverized Sun-Stone, a lone figure of rugged leather and silver-bark caught in a shaft of light that felt less like sun and more like special effects from the heavens.
The fervor in the room was suffocating. He saw the weeping faces of the elders, the wide-eyed devotion of the children, and even the silent, mountain-like salute from Warchief Veylara.
