Глава 14

But we have long since bid farewell to her.

When Babel still yet roamed the earth, the first circle of our fellows vowed to dedicate our lives in service of our ideals. Her Highness and I were no exception.

As for the voices of the myriad souls... I will respond.

I have been waiting for this moment, ever since I sang my first elegy.

The will of the myriad souls is a frothing sea, billowing furiously.

Their hands clench swords. Their hands leash Feranmuts. Their hands command a thousand armies.

Their heads bear identical crowns.

They are the lords of the Sarkaz.

They are the eternal existence of the Sarkaz.

There are no roads that we have not walked, no hardships we have not shouldered.

You have not the strength to match us.

You have not the fearlessness to match us.

They examine, they interrogate.

Countless fleeting emotions condense into a raging swell, enough to wash away any will of any individual.

But through a hundred crashing, surging waves, then a thousand, then a million, the one before them stands firm.

The young Sarkaz lifts his bone pen, pointing it towards all the nameless Kings of Sarkaz.

He needs no words.

His curses are his answer.