The Foreign Tribes' Calamity, the Gods' Burial Ground

“Why did civilization arise in this world?”

“Why is there life in all things?”

“Who created life?”

“And why were humans given thought?”

“Why are there things that can appear so clearly in our minds, yet remain forever beyond our reach?”

“And why am ‘I’ ‘me’? How is that defined?”

“Does ‘I’ belong to this body? To these memories? Or to something more subtle, something beyond words?”

“Are those wild flights of fancy really just fantasies?”

“If they are illusions, where do they come from? Why does ‘I’ conjure up these illusions? Or could they be... the gateway to a ‘whole new world’ that we have yet to reach?”

“Have you ever stayed up all night asking yourself these questions? Have you ever found the answers?”

“If one day in the future you witness its existence with your own eyes, will you realize that the ‘impossible’ you once believed in so firmly was merely a limit imposed by your own pitiful understanding?”

“I once prided myself on being clear-eyed. I thought those wild flights of fancy were nothing but ramblings, phantoms, the impractical delusions and laughable ignorance of youth.”

“But it wasn't until that day, when alien races invaded, humanity perished, civilization was annihilated, and the divine land fell, that I realized the civilization humanity had always boasted of was nothing more than a frog in a well, mistaking its narrow view for the whole world...”