Weee! Being carried is fun! It’s like flying, I feel so light, so free, so, so heavy…

I’m not heavy! Maidens aren’t heavy. Never! It’s the armor’s fault, and George and the tiredness and I feel hot and woozy and...

Blurgh!

…I feel a bit better now.

Where am I? Oh, hello spider. Big spider. Fat spider. Tree spider.

Imma boop it with my whacking stick.

Boop.

Funny spider. It fell down and ran away to its friends. Goodbye spider!

I have friends now, too! Lots and lots of friends. There’s the wolf (he’s a bit grouchy), there’s Pim (he’s got sharp teeth), there’s George (he’s a rat, but he still counts). There are all those other ones as well. I’m so popular, yaaay!

But who are those weird people again?

Riches. Hand of my daughter. Cloth.

… I forgot the rest but that’s ok.

The trees stopped moving by and the rain stopped, too. How wonderful! We’re walking down someplace, and I can feel the wolf becoming a bit bumpy. Is he tired? Nooo, he’s so biiig, how can he ever get tired?

I bet he’s tired of me.

Untrue! He’s just an ol grump, he doesn’t really mean the things he says.

But he said I’m not a demon. Yaaay!

No, wait, how does he know? That’s right, he probably doesn’t know the first thing about demons. How could he?

Booo! Bad thoughts. Box time.

Oh, look. It’s a wall. And stairs. Ugh. They’re making my ride all bumpy and it’s making me feel queasy again. Damn all stairs! Damn knee-high objects! Toads are frogs!

Oh. Speaking of, a wild Glom has appeared! Booo! You’re squishy and your slimy and you’re a big bag of meanness and rudeness and stuff I don’t like.

He’s talking, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. His lips are moving so slow. I can almost imagine what he’s saying.

Map-mop-map-miorp.

I blew the slowest raspberry ever at him.

Finally, someone puts down me on the floor. Ugh, finally. The world’s still going round and round and round. Who’s yelling? Ugh, it’s giving me a headache. Two headaches. Cease!

…my nose feels itchy. I try to touch it with a hand, my right one, but it all just feels so weird and fuzzy. Warm. Stiff.

Is it just me, or is the temple more light-ey? Oh, right, that is me. I’m a glow bug, I can see, everyone can see and it’s sooo cool. There are things on the walls and ceiling, rocks with color and old cloth stuff. I could almost make out a person when an actual one leans on over me.

Oh, a new face. Hello! I’m Elia Rye. Just Rye for you. For anyone. I’m just Rye. That’s me! Hello! Who are you?

I try talking. Something comes out of my mouth.

“Bl… hello. You’re… I’m…”

Ugh. Talking bad. Thinking bad. I can hear someone talking. Time to listen in.

“… onset of infection… ya’ expect me to give her something for her arm as well?”

Yeah! Fix arm. Arm bad.

“… know each other… payment will be difficult… about ten dim?”

I can pay! I’ve got bugs in my pockets. They’re really cool.

“… stuck in a well… five and a half?”

Well! A hole with water in it. I know what that is!

“… seven, the knife and food for…”

Ugh. I’m thirsty. And hungry. Water. Water.

I feel a hand at my cheek, then on my head. Gah! Cold, so cold. The face is back again.

“I do not know whether I should congratulate thee on returning or bemoan thy ill fortune in what thou hast sacrificed along thy way.”

…I lost my cool sword. Spiderbane! Goodbye Spiderbane. I’ll miss you. If I go away, I’ll miss George too. And Pim. And Harris and the Wolf, maybe. And Riches. And… ugh, I’m missing someone. Some people. Many someones.

A cold cup reaches my lips. They are dry and cracked and I really want to drink, but I can barely open my mouth. Stupid mouth. Open!

“Now now, no rush. Drink it up, swallow it all at once.”

I… shouldn’t accept drinks from a stranger. But is she even a stranger? She sounds familiar, but who are you, who are these faces inside my head, who, who, who…

“Splendid. Now, pray to whomsoever thy faith lies with that thou will wake up once more.”

No. Who are you? I need to know. No.

Who am I? Where, where, where?

Did I do good? Can you praise me and tell me I did good?

I redeemed myself, I did, I did!

Mum.

Tell me.

Will I be ok?

“Nnnh.”

A girl wakes up in a warm, fluffy bed to the slowly growing light of dawn and her name is Elia Rye. She lies there for a moment longer, shaking off the sleep in her eyes and wishing that she didn’t have to help with making breakfast. She hates waking up early.

“Ugh. Holy ow, am I tired. Must’ve stayed up too late. The studying. The farm work. The nightmares.”

She gets up out of her bed and looks at her reflection in a basin of water.

Looking back at her is a tired girl of eighteen, maybe seventeen years of age, with a disheveled bundle of rubbish-blonde hair falling down around her face and two blue marbles for eyes peeking out from behind. Her face is rather square and wide-mouthed, tanned by the passing midsummer that brings with it the long working hours of harvest season.

She blames the former on her father’s side. His grandfather came from a place where the winters are colder, and the summers are short and wet. The latter, she puts down to the fact that potatoes, tomatoes and all kinds of grain didn’t jump out of the ground at her convenience, and while everyone on the estate helps harvest the many acres of land when the season rolls by, she still feels obligated to pull her own weight in spite of her many promises and other commitments.

“Stupid mouth.”

She splashes her face and wraps a fresh loincloth between her legs and around her hips before clothing herself in a single, slightly worn white drape of cloth in the shape of a half-moon. She wraps herself in it, throws a part of it over her shoulder and drapes the rest over her left hand. It is a fashion of the old empire, now resurgent in the new one and popular among the rich and slightly less well off. She must wear it for breakfast, after which she will have to change into a more formfitting and practical tunic, a tradition required only of the firstborn as a show of orderliness and decency, a good example to their siblings and the servants of the house. They are the first in everything, the first sign of holy union, the first to be trusted with inheritance and obedience, the first paragon to their siblings and the first to bear the brunt of responsibility and weight of the honor of the family name.

Sadly, nowadays even the firstborn has to help with fieldwork.

After getting herself ready and failing entirely to hide her tiredness (in a small part because that’s just how her eyes droop), she goes on down into the kitchen to greet her mother, who was no doubt already ordering the servants this way and that while preparing breakfast and baking the morning bread.

Or, well, having Samantha, a servant girl, knead the dough, making sure to correct her at every opportunity. Elia knew this was what happened because Samantha had told her often enough. They were of similar age and had always been inseparable ever since they were young. To her, Sam was a bit less than her ideal big sister, a bit more than her best friend, and exactly the person she could talk to about things she otherwise wouldn’t mention to anyone.

They were close, in a way.

Elia knows her whole story, all the joy and some of the tragedy. She knows that though they both played carefree all around the estate, Sam’s parents had once been slaves of war from far away but found an occupation as wage farmers tilling a small piece of land owned by Elia’s family after working themselves into freedom.

Her father joined the new legions in hopes of gaining citizenship but died on campaign. She knew too that afterwards, Sam’s mother worked herself to the bone and soon fell ill, unable to provide for her too young daughter. She died too, of lung rot, leaving Sam alone and with a considerable amount of debt she was now working off as a household servant. It was a kindness extended to her by Elia’s father who himself showed some sympathy for anything relating to his own legion days.

Elia knew that the alternatives would have been to let a then twelve-year-old girl die of hunger or have her sold into actual slavery to someone she didn’t even know. Either were a common enough occurrence, giving how in recent years frequent droughts and heatwaves, pests, war or sheer bad luck destroyed whole harvests of food and left even moderately well-off farmers destitute or seeking a loan. Sam however, now twenty years old, had worked hard and harder to grind away at her debt and while Elia was aware that her mother quite welcomed her enthusiasm, she also tended to parade her in front of the other servants and took her as an example and excuse to load off even more work on even fewer people.

Elia had her own thoughts on the agreement. Seeing Sam work herself to the bone each day for a stupid dream from long ago she had shared with Elia and was still holding on to chafed at her conscience. They grew up as close as sisters. Elia would have much preferred if everyone treated her as part of the inner family instead of like any other servant.

But those were personal feeling and presently, those thoughts were absent. The day had just begun after all, and Elia needed to focus on what she herself had to get done by sundown.

“Morning mum.” Says Elia as she walks down the stairs, already heading for the cabinet with all the dishes.

“Well, look who’s up and grumbling.” Her mother says.

“Nnnnh. Morning Sam.”

“Good morning, miss Elia.” The servant girl’s black hair is splotched with white powder all over, no doubt results of over-enthusiastically working the flour. She gives Elia a well put together chipper smile.

“After you’re done setting the plates, be so good and wake your father, dear.”

“Da’s not up yet?” It was insofar unusual, as he tended to rise only second to the matron and the servants of the house.

“He’s going out to mediate some trouble between two of our client tenders and will go to meet with Citizen Paulus in the city afterwards. He won’t be back until next morning.”

“Ah.” So, he needed the sleep then. Fair enough.

While checking in on client farmers is nothing new, the name Paulus leaves a bad taste in Elia’s mouth. It tastes of business, of politicking and stuff she’d rather not have get in the way of her daily worries and chores. Those are always in such ample supply as to keep her busy enough that she sometimes plays with the idea of skipping her studies altogether. But that would only lead to bigger problems down the road and for some of the younger children, it was time to start getting them used to helping on the farm anyways, even if it only spread the load a little.

Maybe then she can finally have some time to herself.

The smell of bread baking and something with oats and milk cooking in a pan quickly fills the house, rousing those that had the chance to catch some more sleep one after the other. Quickly, the house is filled with the noises of life, yelling children, feet thumping on stone and wooden floors and the gentle admonishments of another servant toward said children.

There are a lot of children, seventeen not counting Elia. As the eldest, it falls to her to create order when they all start rushing to the breakfast table, pinching and pulling at each other’s hair, kicking, screaming, bickering.

“Mumma, Li–ara took my spo–oon!”

“Elia!” Her mum calls from inside the kitchen.

“Yes mum! Liara, give Sophia her spoon back. No, I don’t care that you licked it first, give it back to her.”

“Cali, we goin’ to the fair later?” asks one of her brothers, Max.

“Yah, sure. I’ll ask Eri if she wants to come as–“

“No.” says Elia “Max, Cali, we need you two in the fields today. Da’s on a trip.”

Harvest season was always rough and no matter what else was going on, if there weren’t enough hands wrestling tubers from the ground or plucking red ripe fruits off the vine, things would go bad.

“Oh c’mon, we told you we were going ages ago. Da’ even gave us his ok.”

“I don’t care, we need more people out in the fields, I barely finished before sundown yesterday.”

“Listen to your older sister, boys.” Came a voice from the kitchen.

“See? So, no buts, no – yes Simon?” His full name is Simonius, but he prefers Simon.

“Can I go out and help?” he asks

Elia sighs. “No Simmy, you’re a bit too young for that. Maybe next year, alright?”

“O–ok.”

“E–li–a, Sophia licked me!”

“Sophia, stop licking your sister. Liara, just give her the damn spoon back, please.”

"Language." her mother's voice echoes from inside the kitchen.

“Elia!”

“Elia…”

“Eli…”

“Gah! Sit, eat, food, breakfast!”

Somehow, once the fresh bread is served with warm milk and oats and a side of jams, the table calms down. It is not through magic, or the copious threats leveled against the unruly mob of children, but a prayer that lets silence reign at the table. The gods are real and even if they live on the great mountain above Loften, the capital, all children are taught that no matter where they are, the gods are listening.

“We greet our Lord Ruthe above. May your hands work the peace and your inspiration run through us all. We greet our Lady Worga above. May your arms stay the forest and may your order reign supreme.”

Elia’s mother finishes, the entire table still in silence. Everyone is holding the hands of their neighbors, forming a chain around the table. The quiet clatter of servants working and eating in the kitchen serve as a quiet background noise to the scene. The prayer of peace and order is spoken and, should anyone wish anything else of the other gods, they are allowed to voice their wishes now.

“I” says Maximilian “greet Rhû, the kind man. Please have mercy on me and allow me to go to the fair today.”

“Don’t forget me!”

“…and Cali, too.”

“You’re not going to the fair.” Says Elia.

“Excuse you, if divine intervention objects, who am I to object the objection?”

“Guess I’ll just ask Worga to tie you to a stake, so you don’t run off the fields then.”

“Boys, girls, enough. If it happens, it happens.” Says Elia’s mother.

“I wanna wish for something too!” Liara says.

“Alright Lia. You may.”

“I, uh, greet Rokokoko, the p-pretty princess . I… found a really pretty rock yesterday and, um, if you’re listening, I want to give it to you because I think you’re really pretty and nice and...”

“We can offer it as a sacrifice at an alter when your father takes you to town.” Elia’s mother says.

Elia knows the rock won’t itself be given as a sacrifice, but it has been some time since they paid homage to the unsleeping princess anyways. With harvest season in full swing, there will be plenty of surplus produce and livestock that can be offered instead. As long as the heat doesn't rise even more.

“Anyone else?” her mother asks patiently.

“Uh, I’ve got a few.” Says Elia. She doesn’t want to take too much time, both because she feels it would be selfish and because every minute ticking by in prayer is a minute of work going undone.

Her mother nods and Elia speaks her wishes to the family of gods above.

“I greet Valti, lady of the hunt. May you watch over us in the fields and keep the beasts of the dark forest at bay. I greet Kao-joo, the traveler of elegant seas. Please keep Da’ safe on his travels. I know he’s not going far, but please have an eye on him, just in case. I greet Uovis, our lady of umbrous wisdom. I ask that you steady my focus on my studies and help me learn that which I do not know.”

In her mind, she sends another prayer to Rhû that he should sway her parent’s mind and let Sam sit at the family table with her. She has asked this many a time and still keeps faithful that one day, her prayer will be heard. It would mean the world to her.

Max scoffs. “I greet Uovis as well. Please make my sister smarter so she doesn’t have to ask you over and over again.”

“Valti, please make my brother step in cat shit.”

“Elia! Language! And Maximilian, stop it.”

And with that, the whole family digs in.

…

The day marches on in a steady blur. Images of green and brown landscapes along hills as seen from below, barring the view onto the glistening seas behind them. Long orchards of sunberries, a round fist-sized fruit pigmented in reds, oranges, and purples are a specialty of the region, where they are also known under the common name of ‘tomato’.

“Ugh. Max, get a move on.” Says Elia.

“I am moving.”

“Move any slower and you’ll be rolling backwards down the hill. And Cali, do something about those godsforsaken birds.”

Hours are spent under the sun, plucking tomatoes, sending siblings and servants back and forth with big baskets filled with the fruits and shooing away the crows that want their undeserved part of the harvest as well. They hop around, cackling and jeering until Califer hits one across the head with his sling. It plops to the ground and the others disperse.

“Score! That’s worth letting me go a bit earlier, right Elia?” he asks.

Elia stares in shock at the twitching pest’s body. The bird looks her in the eye and she is drawn into its gaze, its last light of life flickering within before fading into a dull stare. The crow is dead.

“Hey Cali” says Maximilian “Race you to the top?”

“What’s in it for me?” Cali asks.

“I’ll muck out your part of the pens tomorrow if I lose. You do the same if I win.”

“Deal.”

Elia forces herself to snap out of it and focus back on the task at hand.

“Don’t get too into it guys, we’ve still got a few hours ahead of us.” She says.

Hours filled with the drudgery of picking up tomatoes, placing them in baskets. Weed out the ones that are bad, make sure her brothers are doing the same, make sure that there are no signs of pests or illness of the plants and so on. Afterwards, there are some chores at the estate, probably some quarrel between her siblings that she’ll have to sort out before her mother gets wind of it, then supper, then studying until a third of the night has passed, then pass out on her bed and wake up slightly before dawn to repeat it all once more.

Just thinking about it is already making her tired again and even as her brothers pick up the pace (Cali wins), the day still marches forward as steady as before.

…

Evening rolls on by and over Elia completely. She is exhausted and she knows she has barely gotten anything done today. Some days work for her like a frantic dance, where each step of juggling one thing with another goes at least somewhat smoothly. Not today. Today was a tumble down a rocky slope, longer than necessary and a bludgeon to her body and mind. She's tired, she hasn't washed up, half her siblings probably didn't do their chores right or at all and she probably has a sunburn from standing in the field all day.

And she hasn’t even started her studies yet.

Most of everyone else is still out in the fields, except for a few servants preparing supper. Sam is among them as well, though seeing as there is little left to do but let stew stew, Elia’s mother sends her out to help with whatever needs to be taken care of. She steers towards the barn, where Elia herself is tiredly shuffling dried grass from here to there for the Grugs.

The large, scaled herbivores meander about with placid strength. Four legged, the back legs slightly lower than the front, one-headed, with brutal tusks jutting out of their big round heads, they make for a frightening sight. Yet underneath, a docile temperament hides itself from casual observers. And they eat pretty much everything, from kitchen scraps and vegetable peels to oats, hay, and grass and while other breeds are bred for riding and war, these here are for meat and eggs.

A pair of hands suddenly embraces Elia from behind.

“Ack!” says Elia.

“Guess who?”

“Oh. Hey Sam.”

“Hello Rye.”

“Do you, uh, mind un-hugging me? I’ve gotta get this done before–“

Rye is twirled around to face Sam. She looks up at the servant girl, who is more than a head taller than her and who doesn’t seem to be in any rush to let her go.

“Mmmmh… no.”

“No?”

“No. I was looking for something that needed taking care of and instead found me a someone.”

Rye lets out a huff as the hug only gets tighter.

“You, well, ok, I guess Mum sent you to take care of the Grug feed, or the barn door, but instead you- oooh. I’m the someone?”

Sam nods and they look into each other’s eyes. Sam’s eyes are sharp and while Rye often overhears her mother disapproving, calling them names such as ‘mean’ and ‘vicious’, she can’t help but see them as lonely.

“Now…?” Rye asks.

“Now. Don’t think I didn’t notice the rings under your eyes. And the way you’re swaying like a tree in the wind. Or just staring at nothing. You’re staying up too late. You’re working yourself to the bone. You need a break.”

“What I need is to get the hay done quick so I can be on time for dinner in a few minutes and then clean up after quickly so I can focus on my studies and do those fast as well so I can go to sleep earlier. And what you need to do is either help me out here or go make it look like you’re doing something before Mum catches wind that you’re just here to chat.”

Sam looks Rye in the eye and brushes away a strand of blonde hair.

“No. The hay can wait. Dinner can, too. I’ve made sure of that. And I’m also not here just to chat, Rye.” says Sam.

“… how long?”

“Half an hour, maybe a bit longer. But back to us. Do you still not want to be hugged by your lowly servant, your solemnly sworn knight?”

“Well… I guess a bit of hugging is ok." Rye straightens up. "Acceptable." she says in a mock-noble tone."

Sam laughs. “And what if your knight wished to gently stroke your beautiful hair?”

“That would be… fine too. I’d like that actually.”

Sam’s hands gently brush through Rye’s hair. The sheer… comfort of her touch makes Rye’s heart skip a beat but as she leans in and her eyes close, she catches herself from falling asleep.

“Can we lay down? Just for a bit?” Rye asks .

Sam almost as if by magic conjures a blanket from under the nearby haystack and they both lie down on it, keeping quiet and soaking in the moment with their entire being. She gently strokes a strand Rye’s hair to the side. Rye huddles in closer and lets out one long breath and forgets all her exhaustion for but a few moments.

“And is there anything else my sweet, sweet maiden would ask of me?” Sam asks.

“Mmmmh. A kiss, maybe?” Says a tired Rye, her eyes closed.

“A kiss? Oh, how scandalous. I would ne–”

Rye leans forward, meeting Sam’s lips. After a short moment of bliss, they separate and look deeply into each other’s eyes. Both smile and this time Sam leans into the kiss. There is little privacy to be had in the barn. Sam is bold and not bothered by it. Rye is timid until given a push. Sam eats her up with her gaze. Rye drinks in every small sound and touch of their bodies.

Neither wishes to be caught, but both relish the thrill. They've had little enough time to themselves as is.

Soon, Sam’s kisses wander down her neck, trailing along gentle touches that caress the sun-kissed skin of Rye. It feels nice, for both of them.

“Sam. Sam?”

“What is it, my lady?”

“Can we just… stay like this for a while?”

Sam looks up at Rye. The rings around her eyes look so much bigger from up close. Sam takes a moment, but then smiles warmly, and Rye feels a warm tingle work its way into her chest.

“Sure thing, bean.”

This is why she loves her. Sam listens. Sam cares. Sam loves her back. They remain resting in each other’s arms for a long while. The brush of Rye’s hands going through Sam’s hair, the quiet sounds of their breaths and the lone rustle of hay mingle with the distant clamor of the household. Rye’s lids grow leaden as she listens to their heartbeats, thumping together. Slow, slower, slower…

“Peaches!”

I awoke, tired, confused, disorientated, and feeling vaguely robbed. Everything was so bright, and I blinked my eyes twice before barely getting them to open a crack. I wasn’t in that place with the sun anymore, I wasn’t worrying about studying, I wasn’t lying there in the hay with Sam, but I was there. I was there and…

Gods, I forgot so much. Mum and Da’. Sam. The tomatoes and potatoes, our home. Studying, I… what was I studying for? Ugh, it hurts to think, to move, to do anything at all.

“Ah. Awake already?” Said an unfamiliar voice.

I looked to the side before realizing that trying to do so was a mistake. It was as if my head was being pulled in every direction and I was sweating something fierce. My head didn’t move more than a finger’s breadth and I felt so hot and fuzzy and not at all healthy.

“Nnnh. Fugg. Who?”

“Here. Open up.”

I opened my mouth and a woman with a thinly veiled face and hair hidden beneath a fine silver mail coif smiled at me. Gently. Friendly.

Then she put a big fat beetle in my mouth. I didn’t have the strength to panic, I could barely move a muscle. The beetle on the other hand, was alive, and very energetic.

“Whyyyyy–mf!” She closed my mouth, pushing the beetle back inside.

“Chew.”

I whined but given that I’d rather have a dead bug in my mouth than a live one, I did as she commanded. It didn’t feel nice, nor did it taste any better, but judging by the stare on her face, my caretaker wasn’t going to look away before I swallowed it.

I did, looking at her through teary eyes, feeling as sick as I’d never been in my life. She smiled gently and put her forehead to mine.

“You’re pretty.” I said.

“Thy temperature concerns. Thou require rest.”

I did feel like I should, however I was extremely hungry and parched beyond belief. Luckily, the pretty woman watching over me had already anticipated that I would be both. From one moment to the next, I had a spoon at my mouth, and I swallowed it. It was a soup of sorts, except it was cold and probably made with spider bits.

“More.”

I ate like that, reclined and with my head at a slight angle. I didn’t dare look at my hand because with the pounding headache in my forehead, I was feeling like I already had enough problems on my platter. There was also an undercurrent of fear concerning it. I knew what it had looked like the last time I checked.

Please don’t be amputated. Please don’t be gone. I don’t want to lose you, too. I tried to be good, I swear!

“Am I… going… to… die?”

And if I’m not dying, will I get better? I need to do… stuff. Study. Go out and… get food. I can’t sit on my butt all day, I can’t be a burden, I need to get up. I need to redeem myself, if I just close my eyes I can go back, to Sam, to Mum and Da’, to Simmy and Sophia and Matt and Cali and, and, and…

My caretaker didn’t answer my questions. I received a few big gulps of water, and I closed my eyes, feeling the cold goodness chase away at least a part of the uncomfortable feelings all over.

Just as suddenly as I had awoken and without even knowing if everyone else was ok, I fell back down into dreamland again. While I would stay there for quite some time, it was never enough and the repeated journey to my forgotten past made waking up all the more bitter.

A distant conversation I’m almost sure wasn’t imagined filled the background during one of my short, waking moments. I could make out the Wolf and what sounded like Glom talking in a hushed tone.

“Will she be alright?”

“Hrmph. She shall get well again.”

“That is not what I mean, keeper.”

“The body, broken. The mind, dazed. The soul, muddled. Can but the will suffice?”

“It must. And you, keeper. Keep to your promises.”

“Thou art concerned, Wolf. Be aware how thy concern afflicts others. It is not a powerless thing.”

“…there will be no repeat of last time, that I swear. Do you need an oath on that?”

“Hrmph. The word of a murdering mutt shall suffice.”

“That is a part of my duties. And is not yours the dispersion of guides?”

“That it is and thus I have.”

I can hear the wolf scoffing and grumbling, his tinny voice echoing across the stone walls.

“Then where, by Ruthe’s good name, is hers?”

“Harumpf. A worm is a worm, unfit for guidance and blind of light. Yet, where she is concerned, but a worm she is no more.”

“…and she will have a guide?”

“That she will. Should she show the strength.”

“Then that is all I wish for. I will stay for a while, but not for long.”

“And she must rest a while yet. The bells have tolled; my children guide the awoken towards our sanctuary one hop at a time.”

“I take that to mean the dead are awaking again?”

“That they are. Our efforts to consolidate may bear fruit, or our hopes may squirm and perish, but be certain of one thing: There will not be others to call from the beyond forever. If nothing is done, all will die in darkness. It will be a slow death, ground to dust and ash, the longest anyone has ever witnessed. In the wake of this, even gods may know death.”