Battle of Former Lovers

This war has been waged for thousands of days.

I have battled throughout Sarcadia alongside my father and my sisters.

I have fought Succubi and Efreet in Un’Kabaal and combatted Lycans and Verminkin in Alibrium.

I have slayed Hobgoblins and Orcs in Tarana and dispatched Ogres, Arachnoids and Harpies in Dektundra.

The number of dead on both sides has mounted heavily.

The number of wounded greater.

Yet it was today, the final battle of this long weary war, that yielded the goriest result.

So much blood tainted the marshy grounds of Stagnum.

But the crimson spilled was not from the thousands slaughtered on the battlefield.

It came from the deep, unforgiving wounds inflicted between the All-Father and the Dark Mother.

I have not seen my father so irate before.

One gaze upon Tenebris’ new master triggered my father’s wrath.

He had not seen Elysia since he damned her to the Realm of Shadows.

He had only heard what she had become.

I stood by him when his eyes fell upon his former lover.

No longer was she the beautiful maiden who had captivated the heart of a Supreme Lord.

Though her upper body retained most of her human features, her lower body was that of a monster.

Her putrid ovipositor produced the ravenous fiends she called “her children”.

She scurried around the battlefield on a hundred centipede-like legs.

A vile and gaping maw sat below her torso.

It gnashed its hideous rows of teeth and lashed out with its many long, dark tongues.

Snatching and devouring both the living and the dead.

I am re-assured that Father was paralysed, even if just briefly, in fear.

To think that him laying with this woman resulted in her rebirth as Tenebris’ sinister Goddess.

When the shock had faded, my father and Elysia engaged in combat.

There was no honour.

There was no respect.

There was only hatred.

They clashed bitterly throughout the battlefield.

Elysia showed no regard for the safety of her warriors.

The same can be said of my father.

The Dark Mother cared not about the battles she lost.

The All-Father cared not about the victories he won.

There was only the death of their enemy.

Anyone who attempted to intervene were showed little mercy.

One Caelestial was impaled by the Supreme Lord’s spear for interfering in the duel.

It was as if my father was the only one he thought worthy of killing Elysia.

So much blood.

So much pain.

Each vengeful strike delivered was riddled with spite.

Both had their reasons.

For my father, it was the murder of his first born.

For Elysia, it was the betrayal of the Supreme Lord.

Neither would surrender.

Nor did one slay the other.

The Dark Mother was forced to retreat before her portal to Tenebris collapsed.

The All-Father was forced to allow his former lover to escape.

The fury in his eyes could have burned through the thickest steel.

Had it been anyone but Abagael who stopped my father, I swear he would have torn of their head with his bare hands.

The battle had been won.

The war had been won.

But I know my father was not satisfied with the victory.

He will never be satisfied until he fashions the skull of the Dark Mother into a trophy.

— “The Octavian Monologues: Battle of Former Lovers”, Bruce Boward, 218 AO

All Hail the Dark Mother

The Realm of Shadows has a new Master.

All shall kneel and serve the Dark Mother for all eternity.

Throughout the years, I have assimilated all Tenebites into my masterdom.

Those who do not yield are torn apart by my murderous children.

Oh, my precious darlings, you have all made your mother so proud.

And I must not forget my loyal allies and supporters.

Emriana, Tyrant of the Succubi.

You and your sisters were the first to accept me into your family.

Qylaryn tarnished the reputation of your kindred and turned them into harlots.

Under your leadership, the Succubi are now feared throughout Tenebris once again.

Va’Raal, Tyrant of the Afreet.

You and your brothers had always respected my Succubi kinfolk.

It is no secret you harboured disgust against Emriana’s predecessor.

Your devotion to my cause was swift and appreciative.

Krage, Tyrant of the Arachnoids.

Born with both genders entwined you, like I, survived and became powerful.

A thing once thought to be useless now stands by my side as a feared warrior.

One of the first not just to be my ally, but the first to accept and worship me as your new deity.

Xillin Dinjar, Tyrant of the Queyzen.

Your kind have long been disrespected by those who considered themselves to be superior.

Yet here you stand before me with your supremacy unquestioned.

No more shall you be regarded as inferior.

Niroxxi Bloodfeather, Tyrant of the Harpies.

Another who was wise enough to immediately pledge their undying allegiance to me.

Many thought it was out of fear but we both know this to be false.

You support me for you wish to see a woman of formidable power rule this realm.

And of course, I could and would never forget the support of you – Belzabardos.

You have transformed me from a weak Sarcadian woman into an unstoppable, demonic Queen.

To all of you I say, thank you.

Tenebris is mine and mine to do whatever I please.

None shall be foolish enough to oppose me.

Should they be so naïve, they shall suffer the same fate as Archmordeus.

This time perhaps I will take more than just their eyes.

Perhaps an arm?

A leg?

All their limbs?

Or shall I rip out their heart and remove their head?

It matters not, for I shall do to all Tenebites whatever I please.

No one can stop me now.

No Daemon. No Orc.

No Lycan. No Hobgoblin.

No Ogre. No Drakonkin.

No Tengu. No Verminkin.

No Supreme Lord of Sarcadia.

No Supreme Lord of Caelum.

No All-Father.

Tenebris is mine and soon Sarcadia shall be as well.

Death and misery shall spread like a wildfire spreads through forests.

The Sarcadians shall be petrified and paralysed in fear as they gaze before Tenebris’ new master.

I will take Sarcadia from you, Atriarch, just as easily as I took our son away from you.

You will have to come and save your people.

Their suffering will be your fault and yours alone.

You ignored my pleas.

Will you ignore theirs?

In due time, I shall ravage Sarcadia, but for now I shall rest.

My army of Tenebites shall grow stronger every day.

And my children will continue to make their Dark Mother proud.

I cannot wait for you to meet them.

I know they are dying to meet you.

— “The Elysia Monologues: All Hail the Dark Mother”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

Just Like Father

It is said that every boy aspires to be like his father.

I attest this statement to be true, for there is no one I wish to be more than you, father.

You are regarded as being the greatest conqueror to have ever lived.

The Kabaalist child who rose to become ruler of Sarcadia.

The mortal, who slayed an immortal to become ruler of Caelum.

Such a remarkable feat that I truly believe I am incapable of replicating.

The stories I heard as a young child still captivate me as an adult.

The Supreme Lord of Sarcadia.

The Supreme Lord of Caelum.

The All-Father.

My father.

Just like you, I have trained since the age of eight in the art of combat.

I have mastered wielding the sword, the spear, and the shield.

Fighting is as natural as breathing.

I have been victorious in many duels against some of Caelum’s best warriors.

It infuriates the Caelestials.

A half-breed should not be capable of defeating a pure-bred.

But we both know their kind can easily be defeated.

I have filled my head with as much knowledge as I can learn.

I have been taught by some of the most ancient beings in Caelum.

They are impressed by my hunger for education.

Just as your teachers were when you were but a child.

Though I aim to follow you in your footsteps, I am filled with shame.

Yet it is not mine to I bear, but that of my brothers.

They drink too much, stumbling and staggering throughout the Realm of Light like buffoons.

They use their status to take advantage of men and women for sexual purposes.

Why would they do such things?

Why do they not wish to make you happy?

I confront them about this.

Yet they laugh at me.

Mock me.

Taunt me.

They owe everything to you.

Father.

I know in my heart you are already proud of me.

I idolise you.

I worship you.

You said that I would one day be destined for greatness.I hope one day I will prove myself to be worthy enough your son.

— “The Octavian Monologues: Just Like Father”, Bruce Boward, 218 AO

The Birth of Happiness

My wives have done well to bear me children.

My heart has been overflowing with joy since the birth of my eldest child, Jodarian.

The birth of every son adds to my ecstatic wealth.

Salinian. Lucian.

Faybian. Sevastian.

Zorian. Caspian.

My family continued to grow as did a happiness and love that I had not felt for aeons.

I thought it not possible for me to experience anything greater.

Alas, I was mistaken.

On the forty-first year of my Ascension, I was twice filled with overwhelming euphoria.

For this year, I celebrated the birth of my first daughter.

Skin as dark as mine.

And a bald head to match!

You did not cry when you were born.

Not a whimper.

Not a snivel.

Those at your birth thought you to be lame of the mind.

But I knew you were fierce the moment I gazed into your eyes.

Those deep, golden eyes of a proud, fearless lioness.

Those are not the eyes of a simpleton.

When your mother delivered you, she cried believing she failed me.

She thought I’d be disappointed at being denied another son.

But why should I be ashamed?

I have longed to have a little girl to call “daughter”.

You reminded me of my eldest sister – the strongest, bravest, and wisest woman I knew.

She taught me everything.

And I shall teach you everything I learnt from her.

Which is why I named you in her honour.

Abagael.

Your birth this year was not the only one to elate me.

You were to be joined one hundred days later by your new brother.

Skin light brown like a sun kissed Alibrii.

Hair as golden as the sands of the Al’Lamak Island.

Peaceful, sapphire-like eyes just like his brothers.

Just like his father.

Though tiny, I know you will grow stronger.

Just like your sister, you did not cry when you were born.

Not a whimper.

Not a snivel.

Instead, you laughed.

Those present during your birth thought you peculiar.

Not I.

No, my son, you are unique.

So full of life.

So full of energy.

So much potential to be something far greater than anyone imagined.

You shall be the precedence of your brothers, this I know.

I know you will.

Octavian.

— “The Atriarch Monologues: Birth of Happiness”, Bruce Boward, 214 AO

Chatting with the Chatterer

I have dragged my bare feet across the jagged rock floor of Tenebris for weeks.

I ran and hid with my bloody intestines in my hands.

I fended off the dark fiends who wish to claim me for a trophy.

It does not matter who they are or what they are.

One by one they all fall at my feet, dead.

My reputation drew too much attention.

Had I been any other woman cast out to the Realm of Shadows I would be ignored, or at the very least used and immediately discarded.

But these fiends see me as a prize.

Do they think they claim me?

I am Elysia.

No man, no creature, no Supreme Lord shall ever claim me.

I have roamed the ghoulish fields and plains of Tenebris until I found him.

Or perhaps, he found me.

A building forged from the bones of the warmongering dead.

So tall of a structure it reached into the haunting abyss lingering above this damned realm.

The dark, thick heavy door opened with a bone-chilling creak.

Blue flames on floating black candles dimly lit my path as I wandered through the librarian labyrinth.

Endless rows of shelves filled with books made from the skin of Sarcadians and Tenebites.

Twisted staircases sprawled across the infinite room with no purpose other to confuse new guests.

I meandered for what felt like hours until I reached the pinnacle.

And there I found him.

Dozens of bony arms stretched out long like an octopus.

Dozens of skinny hands furnished with vile mouths filled with vile teeth.

A skeletal face that would horrify children as soon as they gaze upon him.

Dark, deep red eyes that must have seen so many things there would be not enough time to recollect everything.

A mouth so large it could bite a ship in two.

A mouth that has uttered damning words for millennia.

He had heard of what I done to that bastard child of mine yet wanted to hear it with my own words.

I told him and he bellowed a wheezy laugh.

He insisted I tell my tale again.

And again.

And again.

I grew angrier every time I recounted murdering that baby.

The words I spoke were drenched in more hatred and spite with each repeated recollection.

My host took pleasure in each rendition of my story as though hearing it for the first time.

When he had heard enough, he introduced himself to me in a surreal gentlemanly fashion.

Belzabardos.

The Chatterer of Secrets.

He welcomed me to his sanctuary and offered me assistance.

He restored my body and revitalised my energy.

I asked why he wanted to know my story so many times.

He wanted to know if the revenge I desired was worthy enough of his help.

He would be willing to help me?

But why?

Immediately, I assumed he wanted a doll to play with.

I am no toy. I told him this, but I was mistaken.

He wished to see Atriarch suffer.

“A being that should not be,” were the words he uttered.

I, too, wanted Atriarch to suffer.

The dark magic known to the Chatterer of Secrets is limitless.

And I desired to immerse myself in his knowledge.

I asked for him to teach me.

He obliged with one condition.

Again, I assumed he wanted to use me.

Again, I was wrong.

He wished for me to bind Tenebris to my will.

He wished for me to rule the Realm of Shadows as its dark Queen.

This would allow me to extract the vengeance against Atriarch that I desire.

Yes. That is exactly what I desire.

Power.

Control.

Domination.

I have long said I am no one’s possession.

I have long said I am no one’s puppet.

But perhaps it is I who is destined to be the oppressor.

Perhaps it is I who is destined to be the master.

Yes. It is I one who shall be in control.

The All-Father shall fall.

The Dark Mother shall rise.

— “The Elysia Monologues: Chatting with the Chatterer”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

First Born Dead

It should have been a joyful occasion.

The day a new life enters this world.

When a woman becomes a mother.

When a man becomes a father.

Today should have been one of celebration.

But alas, it is a day of mourning.

The overwhelming delight conveyed in my newborn son was annihilated as swift as his life was terminated.

My son.

You were only minutes old when you met your cruel end.

So fresh from the womb that your cord had yet to be severed.

I will never see you grow up.

Never see you walk or run.

Talk or laugh.

Would you have been a warrior?

Perhaps a healer?

You could have brought so much good into this world.

You could have brought so much love into my life.

You had so much to learn.

So much to do.

An eternity of experience was at your beckoning.

But now, your life is forfeit.

You were stolen from me in the most malicious way.

Your death was evil at its purest form by the hands of your own mother.

Your mother.

The woman who I was once bewildered by.

The one who I so desired to take as a wife.

Elysia.

How could she do this to you?

How is any woman capable of murdering the life that grew inside of her?

Your death was cruel and should not have been, my son.

You did nothing wrong, but I need to know – why did you die?

Why, Elysia?

Why did you kill our child?

When I appeared before you at Mount Titus, I wept tears of joy as I saw you cradling our newborn son.

I knew he was mine the moment I looked upon his sapphire-coloured eyes.

I looked at you and smiled, yet you resisted the euphoria of childbirth.

You just stared at me with an emptiness in your eyes.

You placed our child gently on the cold floor of my temple, removed your hidden knife and…

… You monster.

I cannot bring myself to say the things you did to him.

What you did was not the act of a mother.

What you did were things only a Tenebite is capable of.

That is why I sent you to the Realm of Darkness.

You belong with your own kind.

You deserve the suffering that shall fall upon you.

A justifiable sentence for a mother who dared to kill her own child.

I will never understand why you did such a vile thing to my son.

You said this was my fault.

My fault?

Was it not you who asked me to leave you alone?

Did you not wish to be left alone on Sarcadia so you could continue your work?

I heard your pleas the day you said you were tortured by your own people.

I heard you beg for me to come to you, yet I recall no mention of your pregnancy.

This is your revenge?

You punished our son… MY son, because you felt it necessary?

You could have spent an eternity with me in the Realm of Light.

Perhaps my son would still be alive.

The Caelestials encourage me to look to the future.

They tell me to ignore the death of one child and take pleasure in knowing I can have more.

But I shan’t forget you, my son.

Though you only existed for minutes you shall live on in my heart forever.

A father should tell his newborn: “Welcome”.

Yet today I am to tell you: “Goodbye”.

— “The Atriarch Monologues: First Born Dead”, Bruce Boward, 214 AO

A Blasphemous Whore

“Whore!”

“You dare claim you carry the child of the All-Father?”

“Whore!”

“If this is true, why won’t our Supreme Lord appear to validate your proclamation?”

“Whore!”

“Because you are a whore that speaks not but blasphemy!”

“Whore!”

“You succumb to your lustful needs, laid with a man or several men, and spread allegations you were impregnated by the All-Father?!”

“Whore!”

“You disgrace us! You disgrace the Supreme Lord Atriarch!”

“Whore!”

Their fists were remorseless as they struck me.

My fingernails were ripped off one-by-one.

They tied me to a rack and set fire to the soles of my feet.

They flogged me until the bones of my back were exposed through ribbons of flesh.

They rubbed salt and lemon juice into my wounds.

They kicked and stomped on me for hours when their fists tired.

They demanded to know who the father was.

They wanted to the name of the man who I broke my vow of celibacy for.

I kept telling them it was your child.

I kept telling them it was you who I laid with.

Yet they kept calling me a whore.

They tied me to the rack once more and whipped me, only this time it was across my swollen belly.

Not once did I cry out or scream, but I did when knowing the life of our child was in danger

I called out to you. I begged you to save me.

I pleaded for you to make them stop and declare that the babe growing inside of me was yours.

You listened not.

They grew tired of waiting for me to speak.

They grabbed me by the hair, dragged me from their torture chambers and tied me behind a horse.

The beast charged into the woods.

My body bounced violently across rocks, stones and the dirt floor.

The rope binding me to the horse snapped, and I tumbled down a steep hill.

And now here I lie, comforted by the shadows within this deep, dank cavern having survived an unjust tribulation.

It hurts to move.

It hurts to breath.

My limbs are numb.

My mind is exhausted.

Whore…

That word pierced me deeper than any sharp blade ever could.

That word hurt me more than any other torture.

Is that what I was to you?

A whore, just like all of those other women you claimed as your wives?

When you left you said you would watch over me from the Realm of Light.

Did you watch as those I once called family violated me with their heinous tools?

Did you not hear my pleas to save me and save your child over the insults they shouted?

Whore…

Whore!

Is that all I was to you?!

Was this punishment for not allowing you to remain inside of me for eternity?!

Do you only see me as a prize?!

Do you not see me as the mother of your child?!

Despite the pain, despite the suffering, I am still with your child.

I can feel its tiny heart beating inside of me.

He is strong.

He is a survivor.

Just like his mother.

Yes, a boy.

That is what you wanted, is it not? A son?

I will give birth to your, no, my son, and he shall never know who his father is. You will never get to know him.

Perhaps then you will regret not coming to the aid of your family.

Perhaps then you will regret not defending me from their accusations.

Perhaps then you will regret not stopping them from calling a word that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Whore…

— “The Elysia Monologues: A Blasphemous Whore”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

The Supreme Conception

You have only been gone a hundred days, yet I feel I have missed you for years.

We spent many passionate nights together, yet I feel I have spent an eternity with you.

My Supreme Lord.

My All-Father.

My Atriarch.

I have experienced things I never thought possible.

When I think back to when you first appeared to me my body shivers with exhilaration.

The memory and emotion I felt when I gazed upon your divine manifestation is as fresh as ripe fruit.

Your body, with skin as dark as the midnight sky, was perfect in every way.

There exists no artwork nor literature which could ever accurately describe you.

But it was your eyes, as blue as the ocean, which captivated me.

I knew instantly you were mine just as much as you knew I was yours.

I asked what you wanted me to do.

You just wanted to know everything about me.

I indulged my Supreme Lord and spoke for hours.

I told you everything – from my time being groomed into a wife to my time as a most zealous servant.

When there was nothing left to tell you, I asked you what you wanted me to do.

You just wanted to spend more time with me.

We explored the corners of Alibrium — from the ruins of Pyzodine to the peak of Mount Titus.

When there was nothing left for you to see, I asked you what you wanted to do.

You took my timorous hands into your firm yet gentle grip.

You leaned forward and whispered: “Start a family”.

In that moment, I knew I was yours.

In that moment, I knew you were mine.

My Supreme Lord.

My All-Father.

My Atriarch.

For days we embraced one another with passionate vigour.

Each time we made love my body was paralysed in an ecstasy.

Though it was only a hundred days ago, I can still feel you.

Trickles of bliss still lingers and tauntingly tickles me.

When we finally decided we were satisfied, you asked me to join you in Caelum.

You wanted me to be mother to your children.

You wanted me to be your eternal bride.

While I do love my All-Father, I will not allow myself to be controlled.

No man nor god shall confine me to the role of a slave.

I told you I regretfully decline your invitation for there was much to do on Sarcadia still.

There were many heathens who needed to be converted.

There were many who needed to die for disrespecting the Supreme Lord.

You were surprised, perhaps heartbroken by my rejection.

You simply nodded your head.

And wished me well.

And that was the last I saw of you.

For years I served the All-Father.

I prayed every day for you to give me a sign that you were impressed with my devotion.

I have received your sign.

You have rewarded me with child.

The cause of this illness plaguing me for days is now known.

I am with child – this I am certain.

I am blessed to be the first to bear Atriarch a child.

I shall deliver the babe to him, but I shall remain on Sarcadia and continue to serve him.

Should he decide to return to me and ask me to bear another, I shall happily do so.

But I won’t allow him to own me.

He’s my Supreme Lord.

He’s my All-Father.

My Atriarch.

— “The Elysia Monologues: The Supreme Conception”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

A Renewed Hope

My ambitions to have a family has been fruitless.

I have brought back several women throughout Sarcadia, but none can bear me a child.

The Caelestials repeatedly tell me: “These ones are not worthy enough to breed with”.

Their words are cruel but the Caelestials speak only truth.

Perhaps I am to blame, but I know conception of a Sarcadian and Caelestial is possible.

The beings of the Realm of Light speak only truths.

They would not dare lie to their Supreme Lord.

I wed my wives out of necessity, not for love.

Is this why I am unable to sire children?

Perhaps there exists beings even more superior than I who manipulate the fate of all that is.

Perhaps they know what I want, but they deny me for I do not truly love those I have taken as brides.

Do they know I only desire the wombs of my wives, not their hearts?

I have tried to convince myself such powerful entities cannot be real, yet I am evidence of the impossible.

I do desire a family, I truly do, but perhaps love is the key to a successful conception.

I thought I could not love again, not after losing my dear Leesha.

But my hope has been renewed for I have found a new love.

Three days ago, my search brought me to the white-sanded shores of Alibrium.

And there she was.

She wore a white and gold toga with a thin, orange rope tied around her waist.

A bright orange shawl was draped over her right shoulder.

Her skin was as white as the snows of Vorumorsk.

The calm sea breeze brushed her long, wavy chestnut hair.

Her light-hazel eyes were so mesmerising they could sooth the most rabid dire wolf.

She stood barefoot in the sand as small waves lapped gently across her toes.

The sensation made her smile, which caused my heart to flutter.

A feeling I had not felt since I was but a boy whose eyes first fell upon the Shirati Warlord’s daughter.

I watched her from afar for what felt like an hour before I approached her.

She turned around and froze like a statue.

Her mouth was opened wide as if she wanted to speak yet could not find the words.

I noticed the six interlinked rings she wore around her neck.

I greeted her, the words arousing her from her temporary stupor.

She said she was humbled to be in my presence, but it was I who was humbled to be in hers.

I asked her what she was doing on the beach.

She told me she regarded this place as her personal sanctuary.

A place where she could be by herself so she could be herself.

I apologised for interrupting her, but she refused to accept it.

She said she would come here to think of how she could better serve me.

She believed my arrival was proof I had heard her prayers.

We spoke for hours.

My heart played tricks on my mind. I am convinced I could taste honey whenever my ears absorbed her words.

All I wanted her to do was talk and tell me all about herself.

She revealed to me her past, her present and her aspirations for the future.

I was so captivated by her that I realised I had forgotten to ask her the most important question.

I asked for her name.

She indulged me.

“Elysia”.

A name that has renewed my hopes of becoming whole.

Elysia.

A name that bewitches me whenever I heard it.

Elysia.

A name I shan’t forget.

— “The Atriarch Monologues: A Renewed Hope”, Bruce Boward, 214 AO

The Supreme Loneliness

I have united the twelve tribes of Un’Kabaal.

I have liberated Tarana from its tyrannical emperor.

I have cured Stagnum from Draconian toxicity.

I have defeated the united forces of the Alibrii Houses.

I have vanquished the Ogre King who ruled Dektundra.

I have slain the one who believed himself to be the true Supreme Lord.

The Sarcadians, who once revered me as their ruler, now worship me as their God.

The Caelestials, who once thought me a worthless mortal, now respect me as their superior.

I am Sarcadia.

I am Caelum.

I am the All-Father.

I am…

I am alone.

I sit upon a golden throne in the middle of a golden room within my golden palace and I cannot help but wonder: “Is this it?”

When I removed Vratralarion’s head from his body, I felt a joy I had not experienced for many years.

You may think I relished in the death of my enemy, but you are mistaken.

The joy I speak of was the notion of being reunited with those I loved.

My father.

My mother.

My sisters.

And Leesha, my love.

To be reunited with you and our children. You who were all cruelly robbed from me, before we could be a family.

Oh, how I miss her.

Oh, how I miss all of them.

Spending an eternity with my family filled me with a happiness I long desired to feel again.

But the bliss was stolen and replaced by a sorrow I long to rid myself of.

My beloved isn’t here, nor my family, friends, and those who died by my side.

They never were here.

They never will be here.

They are gone.

Forever.

“There is no afterlife for a Sarcadian. Once they die, there is nothing.”

The Caelestials were so cold to me, but to them it simply was reality.

Loneliness – that is my reality.

I have sat here by myself for years thinking about what is next.

I have conquered two realms, yet I am unsatisfied.

I could subjugate more realms, but what joy would that bring?

Winnings wars without a purpose is nothing but a distraction.

Who will celebrate my victories with me?

The Caelestials, who adorn me with praise out of fear?

The Sarcadians, who pay tribute to me with the expectation of ascending to a life of immortality?

If only I could celebrate my conquest of Sarcadia and Caelum with the ones who I long to see again.

My sisters. My mother.

My father. My wife.

My children…

Children… Yes. Of course.

I have been so focused on my ambition to unify Sarcadia I forgot I desired a family.

What is an All-Father without children to call his own?

I recall seeing my old friend Shintaro relishing the presence of his grandchildren.

I remember the proud smile he bore whenever he spoke of his children during our war against the tyrant Uro Ido.

A family.

That is what I need to be whole again.

I have nothing left to conquer.

I accept that I shall never see those who have gone before me again, but I must not allow my sorrow for them to keep me in darkness forever.

They would want me to do what will make me happy.

They would never want me to waste away over what could have been.

They shall always have a place in my heart.

It is time to rid myself from this loneliness that plagues me.

It is time for me to become the father I have longed desired to be.

— “The Atriarch Monologues: The Supreme Loneliness”, Bruce Boward, 214 AO