A Wounded World

It has been years since my father’s victory against Elysia.

But Sarcadia still suffers.

The Tenebites that were left behind when the portals were destroyed have established new homes on each continent and terrorise the innocent.

The brave devotees of the Atri-Supreme Church sacrifice themselves daily, yet their efforts are in vain.

The twisted fiends show no remorse.

I wish to go back to Sarcadia and save its people.

Yet, I am to be confined to the Realm of Light?


Because my father mourns, not for the continued loss of the Sarcadians who still adore and worship him.

He laments on the reality that the Dark Mother yet lives.

He exiles himself to his chambers and refuses to speak to anyone.

He has blinded himself to the suffering of the people he saved – twice.

All because he did not kill Elysia?

I do not understand why others should be punished for his failure.

He won the war.

He saved the realm.

But this does not satisfy him.

Sarcadia needs their Supreme Lord, yet he sulks like a spoiled child who had his favourite toy taken away.

The people endure the aftermath of a war that was your fault, father.

Yes, I dare say it was your fault.

Because you are to blame for everything that has happened.

For now, I only dare say such things in private.

I would not utter such words to you directly.

Not yet anyway.

I know of the story of you and Elysia.

It is not as simple as you explained it to me.

You laid with her and impregnated her.

She needed you and you ignored her in favour of your other wives.

Your abandonment lead to Elysia becoming the new Master of Tenebris.

You preach of how great of a whore she is, yet she had done no wrong.

Revenge consumed her so much she waged a war on Sarcadia.

Simply to draw you out from Caelum.

Millions of children, women, and men died because you did not venture from Caelum when your pregnant lover begged for you to save her.

Now you, father, are consumed by the same bitterness that fuelled Elysia’s rampage.

I beg of you, forgive her.

Do not allow yourself to be consumed by the same hatred.

It is unfitting of you.

This is not the same man I came to admire as a child.

You are a great leader.

A wise leader.

A compassionate leader.

You liberated Sarcadia, twice, but it continues to suffer.

It continues to bleed.

I implore you, return to Sarcadia and heal its wounds.

Your people need you.

Do not abandon them as you abandoned Elysia.

Save them once again.

Or at the very least, deliver to them a protector.

Allow me to go in your place.

Allow me to be their healer. Allow me to be their saviour.

— “The Octavian Monologues: A Wounded World”, Bruce Boward, 218 AO

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