Seal of Origin

Sparks forever burning Whenever I look at the continuous beacon fire outside the window, I always sigh feebly in my heart: How is this kind of struggle any different from dying like a moth rushing to a flame? But he just chuckled lightly, with a firm light shining in his eyes: "Our death is never a meaningless end. Even if this generation of us withers like autumn leaves, the next generation will follow the glimmer of light and bravely stand up." He raised his hand and looked into the distance, his voice full of determination, "This fire of hope will never be extinguished in the wind and rain. It will be passed on forever in the hands of one generation after another." It is this belief that supports us moving forward in the dark. For countless days and nights, we shuttled between swords and swords, struggling to hold on on the edge of despair, and never flinched - at that time, we tried our best and gritted our teeth and persevered. But the gears of fate always turn to the cruel side inadvertently. The war ended and the smoke cleared. When I was the only one left on the battlefield, I stood up staggeringly. The scene in front of me made me feel like I was struck by lightning: the real mastermind behind the scenes has been lurking in the corner that we can't see. He is like a puppet master, the king is just a puppet in his hands, and the rise and fall of the entire empire is under his control. I clenched my fists and glared at him, but there was no wave on his face. He just slowly raised the corners of his lips, chuckled and spoke cold words: "You have been following the trajectory I have drawn from the beginning to the end. Those beliefs that you think you are firm in, and those roads that you have tried your best to protect, are just the ideological shackles I created..."