Ori was still shaking. Still searching for a memory precious enough to offer. The Keeper waited patiently, her golden form casting strange, elongated shadows across the cathedral floor that seemed to move independently of her stillness. The portraits hummed with anticipation, the sound building in layers—a low drone overlaid with higher frequencies that made my teeth ache and my luminous skin pulse in rhythm with their collective voice.
Then Astro spoke.
"I'll pay tribute too."
Everyone turned to look at him. The sound of movement echoed in the vast space—the rustle of Ori's clothing, the whisper of my luminous form shifting, the subtle creak of ancient stone settling. The Keeper's ancient eyes narrowed, gold-on-gold irises focusing with an intensity that felt physical, like she was looking through him rather than at him.
