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The birth of such a flower like thee may finally end this war, an omen that the vile gods will be vanquished, and the One True God will be enthroned.

Thy wisdom, thy dedication to thy race, thy loyalty to me, is thy cause. She kneeled ceremoniously with her head hung down-lacking that of any emotion. Until finally, she was presented with personal grace from her creator, Kainas, God of the Forest. She was no longer a child, yet the world remained obedient. For example, there’s no sense in cleaning a room if it’s only going to get dirty again. There was no reason to it, much less a purpose. To a child who was too wise composing countless victories-the world was just that. Cries of despair, of joy, of defeat, of victory and of war, were to be played in an orderly fashion, like a symphony. The troops were musical notes, the strategies were the score, and the battles were the melody. Groups formed troops, troops formed ranks, and ranks formed battalions, making organized combat possible. Magical spells were systemized, making it possible to use large scale magic in groups. A child with dry, colorless eyes, who saw the world so clearly, thought, and-indeed, the world followed.Įach time the child uttered an idea and put it into practice, the messy, ugly world became simpler and simpler. Not because the world was without order, without meaning and without value but purely because of that unfounded conviction of mine that the world should be that way.Īn ignorant, overly wise child who knew nothing, thought that. When I was a child, I thought the world would be much simpler. That’s the first time in her life she’d ever wondered that…… What did this world really look like before the outbreak of war……? It was like drifting through a dream, with an indefinite awareness…she suddenly thought: With every flicker, violent gusts followed as Elven vessels were shot down.

The pale light of the spirit circuits that pass away in a blue death. Her eyes that held six diamonds each were murky with no light of their own, only refracting the sparkles of the sky sparkles of crimson hue that burned away amidst the polluted air. The jewel on her forehead clouded like charcoal. …Her long ears perked up, but only heard silence. That day, Think Nirvalen vaguely gazed up into the heavens, her back scorched by black ash-to the point of vitrification.