The Monolith of Azh’Kar Here, water sleeps. Here, water waits.
Carved into the rock like a silent threat, the Monolith of Azh’Kar does not pray. It preserves. It counts. It stacks droplets like seconds before the end.
What is drunk is lost. What is stored is saved.
The Zorgers understood too late. When the rivers died. When the wind carried nothing but sand and regret. So they dug. Lower. Deeper. Further. Until the water had nowhere left to run.
The Desert Lords whisper that one day, the Monolith will break open, and the sea will return to swallow everything. The Zorgers don’t listen. Myths don’t fill reservoirs.
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logistacks
Here, water sleeps. Here, water waits.
Carved into the rock like a silent threat, the Monolith of Azh’Kar does not pray. It preserves. It counts. It stacks droplets like seconds before the end.
What is drunk is lost.
What is stored is saved.
The Zorgers understood too late. When the rivers died. When the wind carried nothing but sand and regret. So they dug. Lower. Deeper. Further. Until the water had nowhere left to run.
The Desert Lords whisper that one day, the Monolith will break open, and the sea will return to swallow everything. The Zorgers don’t listen. Myths don’t fill reservoirs.
So they wait.
So they store.
Because this world belongs to those who thirst.