(Time-Stilled World, The Spectral Plateau, Round One Of Questioning)
Leo remained seated, legs crossed and brow furrowed, the silence between him and the specter growing heavier with each passing second, as though even the air around them had paused to await his decision.
He had run through each story in his mind again and again, searching for a crack, a misstep, a hidden clue buried beneath their myth-like cadence.
The tale of the architects seemed almost plausible in a world this fractured, where madness often became logic and belief could warp reality itself.
He could genuinely believe that there did exist a broken tribe somewhere in this world that would have tried to dig downward toward what they believed was salvation, when the sun disappeared.
However, perhaps it was because the story was too believable that he wondered if it was a trap?
