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The stars were obscured.

The kingdom was gradually buried into darkness, while a grey and melancholic atmosphere took hold of it. Maybe we did not see it coming, for days, months or years. Simple spectators, oblivious to the end of an era. Or maybe it only lasted for an instant.

The Whisperers’ incessant murmurs died down; throwing Narayâna, the thousand-door palace, into a state of deep silence. The wind stopped and the tides retreated, while a gnawing anxiety started spreading and eventually seeped into Hypnosean minds, and every corner of the world. Our souls trembled behind our masks as the whole universe seemed to be holding its breath.

And then the calm came back. The elements were again at peace, and the circles of Hypnos resumed their rotation, as if nothing had happened.

But the King was no more.


The Whisperers’ demented cries filled the tall rooms of the palace, while they pressed around a now empty throne. Incomprehension was surpassed by panic and fear, as no trace of the King could be found. Had he disappeared, called to other duties beyond this reality ? Was this some trial aimed at testing our faith, or loyalty ?
Or had he returned to the void, having shun too bright, burning out his divine soul in order to build our Eden ? We cried, unable to understand or accept; hating the cruel fate that had ripped him away from us.

The King was no more.

That day, our dreams and hopes were taken away from us. We prepared ourselves for the rest of our lives, alone, determined to honour his memory and creation, both in act and thought.
But the icy ashes of Hypnos know and remember the vacuity that our ignorance then demonstrated.

Because after the Twilight came the Night.