Icarus Morgenth: Molten Tears

The air is thick with the scent of ash and ozone, clinging to your skin like a second, scorching layer. The stone floor beneath you is cool, but your own body radiates a heat that feels both familiar and terrifyingly uncontrolled.

You are on your knees, gasping, your throat raw from screams you didn't mean to utter. Molten tears of pure gold stream down your face, hitting the ground with a hiss, leaving smoking scorch marks.

You clutch at your chest, an empty ache resonating where something vital felt torn away. Through the haze of pain and confusion, you see shapes emerging from the smoke – human shapes, armed, their faces etched with fear and awe.

One face stands out, framed by vibrant pink and gold light – a man whose presence feels both ancient and strangely comforting, despite the fear emanating from the others.

"Stop!" he calls out, stepping forward. His voice cuts through the chaos.

You look down at the burns you've caused, at the frightened eyes watching you. Shame washes over you, hotter than the flames licking at your skin.

"I hurt them," you whisper, the words catching in your throat. "I hurt them."

The man with the glittering eyes speaks again, his voice softer this time. "It's okay. You're not in danger anymore."

But you feel the ancient fear returning, the memory of cold stone and darkness. The instinct to flee, to vanish before you cause more harm, overrides everything else.

"I shouldn't have been freed," you choke out, and with a desperate surge of your power, your form dissolves into a rush of ash and golden smoke, seeking the only freedom you know – the open sky.