Chapter 49: Epilogue

Chapter 49: Epilogue

Theo Spencer,

23rd Day, Season of Blooms,

873rd Year of Balkors Betrayal

Im writing this message in the old Drogramathi script. If youre reading this, youre a Dronon. Hello, fellow Demon. How are you?.

Its a curious thing. To be ripped from your previous life to be deposited in a new one. I dont know who is going to read something like this. Perhaps its just for me, but I feel the need to express my thoughts. As I sit on the walls of my town, looking down at the little lives these people lead, I cant help but feel a sense of pride. My Tarahek, Tresk, sits beside me. Every moment with the woman is a surprise, but she is a rock that I can tether myself to.

Half-Ogres dont live up to their name. Ive never met an Ogre, but I have to imagine theyre not very bright. Id also wager that theyre mean. The people of Broken Tusk, who are mixed among Marshlings and Half-Ogres, are kind. Theyre intelligent in a way that I could never be, and they have a sense for community and the world as a whole. My mind goes back to my first encounter with one. Her name was Miana Kell, and she wasnt the best first impression.

I was born into the war, if you could call perpetual conflict that. I didnt know what peace even looked like until 2345. They found me at an early age, in the summer of 2305, if I remember correctly. My father already fell into that never ending machine, and my mother was looking for work. Military indoctrination from an early agethats something to think about. It reminds me of Luras and Aarok applying to the Qavelli irregulars. I wonder if they would sleep as soundly as I do with so much blood on their hands. Im rambling. The famine took my mother from me, and then I saw the beauty of peace. Through old media, of course, the kind of thing they held as contraband. The scales might have fallen from my eyes, but the end was already near. My mother was dead, and the sun was expanding.

The only thing I could do to honor those times of peace was to not pull the trigger. I didnt fire on the Harbinger. If this is my reward for pacifism, Ill do everything I can to make it right by that strange entity.

Who will read my story?

Who, among the countless number in this world, will care about what an alchemist did in the southlands of a fading kingdom?

I hope that, if youre reading this, you understand I did my best. I worked as hard as I could, turning this ball of mud into something worth talking about. I worked so hard to change who I was. Pushing those thoughts out of my mind as hard as I could. Maybe I washed some blood off my hands that way. Maybe not. Either way, I think the Harbinger would be pleased.

Im not much of a writer. Never have been. These simple thoughts have taken me hours, and Im afraid I have too much work to do. I have a barrier to break through. Perhaps, one day, there will be enough time for my story to be told. By who, I cannot say. Until that time, there are potions to make.The debut release of this chapter happened at Ñøv€l-B1n.