Final Fantasy - Dungeonscape Chronicles 005: ...A hundred years after.

One hundred years. Today, a life of man ends somewhere in the world, a child is born, and the world, oh terrible world, keeps in motion, bringing new captives to it's cage to feel not so alone amid the voyd of darkness. One hundred years I ceased to be a person to become a thing, a tool, a mere token on a collection of treasures deep in the vault of a beast that posses as a man. Or, is this the beast inside every man of manner and lore, taken shape from a broken mirror shard, to haunt and terrorize the vanity of the elightened minds?

Enlightened minds. *haha* Another self-pleasing term for those who fancy themselves mighty in thought when the body fails. Truth, they say, is their sword and fact their shield. Pittyful fools! What do they know about the truth?! They envision truth as a lady of utter radiance which embraces all that exists in a motherly hug. *haha* Isn't it charming to hear the tales of children? Ah, if they were to face truth for real, even if glancing it upon a mirror, perhaps the stony gaze of a medusa would be found far more appealing to their fragmented minds. And yet, so much is there to learn in the chisseled faces of horror the cursed ones capture for all eternity and often I pondered if this isn't a perfect state of thought. *haha* If statues would lend us an ear and answer our feeble questions, how much could we learn about the truth? But such is not the question here. The question is... can we survive it?

Ah, the truth, the truth. So little have I learned about it here, at the center of a thought of logic and symetry taken form through metal, rock, and wheel. And yet, such mere scraps have served me well, and humility is what I've harvested. Rubbish for the master of this manor of torment, jewels for this living treasure, for all he cares are the doors. Yes, the doors. He cherishes nothing more lasciviously nor more passionatelly, and so I have become his lover. Yes! I confess my sins for I have partaken on such depraved intends and my name might be written in blood all across this nuptial palace, granted shape in the likeness of what makes god and mortal alike. And yet, even when so vainly sat upon the throne of this monument to mortal divinity, the master of this realm knows nothing about the truth beyond his fevered dreams of beastful savagery. He knows nothing about the world of black skies, the endless cliffs of crystal, the pipe valleys of broken chrome, the falls of quantities bereft of object, the eternal dawn of blue, or the slave lords that toil in the unseen beyond our measure of time. But he doesn't knows, nor he cares to know, for he fancies himself an enlightened mind.

*Haha* Perhaps it is a good thing that he doesn't knows... If he were to know, he would come to realize that not even the brave hero can save him nor anybody. Nobody can save you when you are but another brick in the walls of the labyrinth. After all, who can save the minotaur from it's own labyrinth?

- Helwynn, Oread Seer.