a frozen tempest waits
the tempest that forgot how to rage
The sky-weavers bottled the Great Tempest in a sphere of storm-glass to spare the world its fury. The storm did not die — it stopped. Lightning hangs in the air like cracked crystal, rain waits forever mid-fall, and thunderclouds have sunk into stone. You are a glasswright, walking the endless storm-glass to mend its seams before the tempest remembers how to rage. Listen — you can hear it dreaming.