We held out hope, digging through the rubble, our lips whispering prayers to the Ancients. Always a watchful eye towards the horizon. Even in this furthest corner of the world, the Shroud threatens to engulf us and seal away any ray of hope.
As the air grew thick with that cursed fog, we held on. As fires raged on the horizon, ash falling like snow on Howling Pike, we pushed harder. May this home, long kept, usher us into the bright age.