The Climb to the Throne: I Rule Even in Adversity

Autumn kills, and winter kills. Living things gnaw old bones; ruined graves sow new souls. Summer fades, and cold takes root once more. A thousand faces fall silent, yet the earth is still warm. Fierce winds summon sudden rain; the blade rusts, awaiting the sharp spring. The sun wanes, the moon casts its shadow, and night grows dim. I can only mourn the pure soul with sorrowful wine. The Way remains, but people are no longer what they were.…