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>[MEMORY] - Prepare an act with a distant memory, now remembered. [-9 FAITH]
The noonday breeze, the creeping fog, and the morning dew are neglected, oft-forgotten things. But their conjoining permits the opening of the sky, and the opening of the sky is never forgotten.
You are a god of nothing, but you once knew another name.
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The tangled collector drags its ragged threads through splintered wood and bloodied snow. The boy breathes slowly through interlocked fingers. Father and daughter close ranks, raising shields against a mottled gloom that their eyes cannot pierce.
The moon disappears. The sky darkens. Freezing rain sleets down from roiling clouds, sharpened by the driving wind. Slowly, threads appear within the torchlight, and the unwound faithful appear in indistinct ranks. Father and daughter drive heavy swords through the caraven's former inhabitants, blunting sword-points against bloodless bodies. The knight calls to her daughter. The daughter calls to you as you weave the currents and the fog.
When she invokes you a third, desperate time, her flicker-stone crackles within its leather bracelet.
You answer.
The furious sky hammers a pillar of cobalt lightning into the cold ground. Heat flashes snow to steam, leaving behind the scent of burnt pine and acrid petrichor. The collector vanishes into pennants of burning cloth - a fading after mirage within a sea of solar white. The faithful procession collapses as their threads are severed.
Father and daughter brush static-charged ash from their mailed armor. Thunder rolls through the midnight forest, echoing inside the atrium of your shrine like a heartbeat.
