Have you ever wondered what it meant to be one of the last great survivors of the bloodline of god himself? To have that great power flowing through your veins, yours to command?
Well if I might spoil it for you, it feels a lot like sitting on a broken bicycle seat, only it’s less of a seat and more of a sharp rusty chunk of metal.
a couple hundred people came from the capital to the campground to find me, to ask me to restore their power, and sure I probably can but like, what’s even the point? Alexandros is dead and I think its high time they let him go, he isn’t going to save anyone anymore.
Or maybe that’s just the faulty thinking of a woman who has lived a long life, maybe people, especially in today’s troubled times need that kind of faith to continue to carry on. Maybe people need to know that even though a god can die, his power never really does, that there will always be people to pick up that torch and carry that burden.
When I met with Grandfather, he told me that our family line has always been there, since the dawn of history, to protect people, to destroy the great evils, to fight back against empires of fire and filth. It’s funny, I almost kind of believe in his cause when he talks.
Either way, whether I agree or not, I am tasked with bringing these people back hope. I have led them back to the great temple, where they now sing songs in my name, where they might praise my fore bearer in all his greatness.