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“O Sillad, the Monarch of Frost and the King of the Snow Folk! I, Sirka, your descendant, pray to you in desperate need!” Sirka, who had left with Haein a long time before to enter the Grave of the Dragons, prayed to Sillad, and it seemed her voice had reached him.
The prayer of a descendant, at its root, was supposed to be praise and admiration given to a spirit long dead. Sillad more than willingly responded to that prayer. He had selected Sirka himself, and he wondered just how much respect, devotion, and love she’d put into the prayer she was offering him for the first time.
“Uh… Well, to start…”
There was none of that, of course.
“Sillad, if you don’t mind… We’re in a bit of a bind here. Would you relay a message to Suho for me?”
[Sillad doubts what he is hearing.]
“Oh! And if you could, show him what we’re seeing right now, as well. Maybe that’s not possible, though, not even for you…”
[Sillad looks indignant at this provocation from Sirka. His mouth has dropped open.]
The prayer was nothing reverent. It was clear why Sirka had...
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