The path of power was a treacherous, glittering road paved with exquisite loneliness.
That was what Eira had come to understand across the slow, aching eternity of her existence; it was a desolate highway where one gradually forgot that other people even existed as anything more than fleeting shadows or useful tools. A merciless trail where one cultivated, bled, sacrificed decades, and clawed desperately toward immortality — only to reach what one believed to be the summit and discover, with bitter amusement, how laughably insignificant one still remained.
There were always bigger monsters waiting in the dark; ancient, indifferent beings who could crush a painstakingly forged immortal soul like a mortal insect, with the same bored indifference one used to swat a fly on a summer evening.
And so... the cycle repeated itself, cruel and elegant in its inevitability.
