Has it come to this, father?
You despise me so much you turn your daughters against your sons.
My sisters hunt them down like animals.
It is I you detest, not my brothers.
What have they done to incur your wrath?
Do you believe slaughtering your sons is enough to erase memory of me?
What have I done to deserve your hate?
I am befallen by a curse, yet you offer me no cure.
Neither remorse nor sorrow for the son stolen from his father.
You forsake me to the darkness.
But this does not satisfy you.
You tell Sarcadia to fear me.
You denounce me a monster.
The newly crowned champion of Elysia.
They know not of the treachery which fell upon me.
These people shun me for the lies you weave.
I desire to help, yet they flee.
They cower at the mere mention of my name.
My exile continues because of you, father.
Do you think I will allow myself to be forgotten so easily?
I will never be forgotten, for no longer shall I be forsaken.
You envision me a monster?
Then a monster I shall become.
Rivers of blood shall be on your hands.
I will eviscerate every man, woman, and child and consume them indiscriminately.
But it will not only be your son who terrorises the innocent.
Your grandchildren, born from the same shadows as their father, shall be by my side.
Amongst the chaos, the people shall look to Caelum above and beg you to save them.
But their pleas and tears will earn them no salvation.
You will abandon them just as I was.
Then they will be forsaken, just as I am.
I promise you, my father, once I have consumed this world I will bring darkness to the Realm of Light.
I will kill my sisters just as they executed my brothers.
And then, you will finally see me for what I have become.
For what you made me.
The son you once loved.
The son who fell.
In your ignorance you shall ask: “What have I done to incur your wrath?”
And I will reply: “Everything”.
— “The Fall of the Son”, Bruce Boward, 218 AO