particular notices, stamped and plastered all over the walls of satia like a hungry man’s den silently weeping for more. this one wasn’t alive anymore, however, despite all of the phantoms roaming it’s hollow roofing. they create wind- rotten, musky wind. it’s no wonder the archaeologists of this day don’t dare step foot near these tall ruins.

perhaps it’s just kayaras’ wondrous imagination, or a curse of some sort, but the winds running past the shattered windows glass orchestrate an awfully familiar set of notes that he tries to ignore with every waking bone in his body.

then again, it is the wind, and it is never to cease; for as long as the phantoms haunt it.

170, 180, 190 now; he counts along the run down walls filled and overwhelmed with letters and notes that can only be read by the oldest of residents. a peculiar note in particular can be distinguished easily from the others, written in hatred and anguish like kayaras has seen no other through a couple simple strokes.

the wind bellows past this one too, and takes the hanging edge with it into the sky and out of his sight. those all too familiar notes make place for the second time since kayaras decided to enter here through each individual paper and he begins to reconsider the planned time of his return. with a quick rise of his chest, he readjusts his collar in the same manner his superior always does and moves on. little words are spoken, even less sounds are made, instead replaced with this now irritating gust.

should he leave? should he stay? the questioning quickly simmered down as kayaras reaches a point wherein the end of the wall is visible, paused by a tall church. more abundant in height than ground, it falters at the melodious wind and looks as if it may collapse any day now. he stops to stare at it for a moment, ringing out weakly on a large bell being swayed continuously at the peak.

in fact, these notes are not at the winds fault. if he’d known the bell was chiming instead of it, he would have climbed the damned thing and taken it down long ago.

kayaras begins walking down the last of the dressed walls, reaching the churches slanted doors with the bitterness of an old man. despite having such a hindered posture, the tattered wood crowns over his stature in mocking rebellion. if doors and bells could talk, he’d say they aren’t very distant in terms of volume.

well, that is, until the bells chiming becomes increasingly louder with furthering seconds and seemingly unaffected by the wind; instead, by something far worse- the same nature of a violent phantom seeking vengeance. at first it had been calmed, but now restless, banging and shouting with no intention of quietening.

even so far up, closer to the sky than it is to kayaras, can still be heard; painfully at that.

he covers his ears at no cost, and each waking second becomes a new height for the bells ringing to reach, merciless in its disarray.

it is no longer a composed set of notes, but rather a boisterous one.

furthering with no return it’s torture, kayaras finally decides to run back to the residence.