Prologue
The Mark Of Rebirth
From the depth of an unfathomable darkness, âpolygonsâ of bluish appearance flickered into view. Their edges moved, dividing, realigning. They created a depth of monotonous hue. They converged and recalibrated, assuming the misshapen form of dextrous appendages reaching and feeling out of view. They âheldâ onto a thin film. Inside was a small record, scraped and tarnished.
[Sethnic Voice Memo: 14.6.289]
â¦
Greetings. To think itâs been 3 months and going ever since we dropped into this hellhole of a lagoon⦠Lately, Iâve been journaling my thoughts. Raymond thinks Iâm an idiot for doing so, but this has become a rock for my sanity.
Weâre not going to make it out of here.
There is not one day we go without seeing bloodshed, whether it be our own men, or the ones pooled from the heretics and monstrosities. Iâve seen dying children, broken families, and desolation. But⦠The indescribable horrors that lay beyond these lands, I could not wish them upon any soul. There were moments where I thought to myself, âmaybe itâd be better if Iâd ended up in a casket,â or âwhat are we fighting forâ; itâs been replaying in my mind innumerable times.
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e̵ÌÌÍa̸ÌÌÍÍÍ̼mÌ·ÌÌ ÍÌ̪y̵ÌÌ¢e̶ÍÍÌ«Ì©ÌnÌ´Ì̺̦pÌ´ÌÌÌÌ¡Í r̸̾ÌÌÍ̼ Is calling me.
What we have endured all these years has only been for a hope of a potential future where we can be rid of this Blight that has encroached upon every crevice of the continent. Each effort we make is either thwarted completely or is overridden by further invasion. Weâre outnumbered, fighting in foreign territories, and yet some fools still havenât the brains to rack their minds on cooperating properly. They continue on and on with their paultry squabblesâitâs all just old feuds. The troops from Tristen look at us like weâre less than dogs, but weâre ultimately fighting side-by-side; thereâs no point in acting higher if all itâs going to do is put us all six feet under... Would they even bother to help us if we were surrounded, or would they just try to save themselves?
There are No Heroes. No Martyrs by Choice. Only Authority. Only Control Prevails.
Thatâs besides the point. You, listener: I hope your future is less bleak than this war-torn era of mine. I, and many others, have come to accept that we are just the beginning of a long struggle, one that will last beyond our lifetimesâweâre just stepping stones, if you may. I know that if we were to give up now, the calamity would roam free, pervading perhaps even further between oceans.
But⦠I canât go on like this any longer. My heart is wilted. I want to soar through those fanciful flights of grandeur, to be hailed a legend, however, I am chained to The Boundless. I want peace, however, I must kill to obtain it. I want life, but all I am left with is the chilling sensation of death.
I am trapped inside of myself. My armor burdens me. If I free myself, then all worries will cease. I will have seen more than them. I will see the world for what. it. isâ¦
[End.]