He passed under the thirteen guarded arches, six of clay and seven of silver, until he reached the golden doors barring the entrance to the Seat of the Sun. There he paused, facing the spears and shields of two-score of Yptah’s most hardened warriors, their faces inscrutable behind helmets scored with the permanent marks of war. He became intensely aware that the only thing between their blades and his skin was thin a summer robe. But the swordbearers were expecting this visitor. The golden portal was opened and he entered. Wordlessly they swung the heavy doors shut behind him. He stood alone in the innermost heart of the palace. It was silent as a cave, and the night air hung hot and heavy in the moonbeams. He ascended the thirty-three colored steps, their subtle spectrum barely visible in the dark. At the top were several chambers, each lavishly furnished, and each utterly devoid of life. If there had been any manservants here before him, as there often were, they were gone now. To...
The waters lapped at Hectar’s bare feet. He sat on the edge of the bustling pier, legs dangling into the River Yp, the setting sunbeams finding the creases in his furrowed brow. About him scurried rough, rural folk; villagers who straddled the divide between the Fahmal’s western edge and Yptah’s eastern border. He paid them no heed. His eyes were closed. Ageless waters, you who have washed away secrets, so many… He felt the dirt on his feet, the crusted lattice set along his sandals’ ridges, felt it soften to mud, drift free. First River, you would wash away the stains of my long travels. For this I am grateful. Do you perchance have the power to free me of the time before that, from which I still fly; to wash the stains from man’s memory? Surely, surely, given time enough… All our endless choices, running together, the flow of who we are now, of who we become. Now…now is determined by choices past. Now, here I stand at journey’s end. Truly, there is but one Eterna...
He starts to build a tower Half of dream and half desire While others live he's digging He so badly wants to be. He struggles to fuel the fire Finds the dreams burn up so fast But he labours on regardless Days slip by until at last. He's in love with what he's crafted Won't see this cage he's made is he Stays up till sunrise thinking Picks at meals alone and free. He is sad sometimes, frustrated No one ever taught him That his tower's to return to, Not to dwell in, endlessly. Still struggles to fuel the fire Till his dreams dry up at last But still he sits in silence Too proud to leave, to flee. Because he knows there's something to this, He just knows it, must be, So he labours on regardless Forging must be, must be.
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