The rebellion of the spirits, the war of the chosen. Should you scrape by for a lifetime, with no say in your own fate, or rise up and fight, even if it means flying straight into the flames?
What are all those claims about good and evil really hiding? What lies behind the greed in the shadows, and the so-called naivety spoken of by the strong? Why did disaster strike so suddenly? What future awaits humanity amid the upheavals of history? The power struggle among all the factions ends with the fall of a king. So who will share the final delicacy at this gluttonous feast? The clever wear masks and play their roles to perfection. The foolish wear masks, but can only fool themselves. I am the king, because I wear a mask.
Loneliness is the most wicked of gods. It cares nothing for the reasons, driving every desperate soul into an even deeper abyss of despair, until there is nowhere left to turn, until they fight back, until they are reduced to ashes.
As you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back at you. As you run ahead to escape the Grim Reaper, you don't realize that his scythe is already at your throat. If no one had gone before us, how could we enjoy the peace we have today?
May the blood of heroes forever run hot, and may their souls rest in peace.
