The wind gently blew through the ruins of an ancient city, a place forgotten by people and time itself. But for the fallen angel Vyres Nythauk, it was almost like his goddess's palace. Ignoring the downpour he thought of his time at the palace. And concluded that the dark, old, and mysterious the city would be a close second for a temporary hideout. All the remnant Chaos magic drifting through the air filtered into his immortal soul. "Good thing I'm not a mage, it would suck to get cursed." he said, landing on a roof. Flaring his jet black wings out before they dematerialized he looked around and heard the ghostly hum of its past. Wandering down to street level he summoned his cloak. Draping it over himself Vyres moved forward, silently and swiftly. 'Wonder if Amira came out here?' he mused, thinking of the fallen archangel that left before he did. Then shook his head at the thought, recalling why she sent to the mortal world in the first place.
Reaching an old Symyria temple near the center, Vyres pushed through rickety doors and paused. The only sound, excluding his breathing, that could be heard was that of the old wind. Telling the secrets of this place to nothing but the ancient ruins, ruins that already knew all it's secrets and were the silent witness of a lost time. Taking a knee in front of a statue, he bowed his head in reflexive habit and closed his dark eyes. Letting his magical aura glow in all it's glory he drew whatever peace he had deep into himself to bolster his emotional walls. "How broken am I to feel like something is missing?" he inquired aloud.