I stand at the edge of the world, where a great river ends in a still pool; dead at my feet. It once was bright with life, with existence, history of time before time. It glows now, but not like it should. My heart is hollow and empty within my chest; it echoes with the last of the gator grumbles. There will be no more hatchlings, no more mewling beneath the nest and a mother calling forth her children. It is a silent wasteland; let’s wave to the sister of Atlanta, the price of the unforgivable.

 I am empty, everything that I was is burned away, and the ashes rain from the sky. That which defined me is indistinguishable from the shame that dusts my shoulders. This burden is the price of my failure; I will try not to stumble as I go forth. The Light by the River burns away and behind me footsteps are left by someone I do not know. This is madness made manifest, it truly is the end of time. The cleansers of the land are gone; long live the Gural who heal but cannot remove that which festers beneath the wound. The thinkers of the world are gone; long live the dragons that remember but rarely bring new thought into existence. The messengers of the Earth are gone, only the dragons of the islands truly listen to her, but do not speak. The Corax fled from the earth and took to the heavens; only the Camazots roosted within her mouth, spreading her words. The bats are only memory now. The Corax were never the messengers of the earth, they call themselves her messengers, but I cannot recall a time they put their ears to the ground, listened, then spoke. They are the messengers of the cosmos, no wonder this river has died. No wonder her Survivors are on the hit list and we must be witness to this loss and carry their burden as the eldest of the earth. Will there be someone to watch when we depart from existence; will they bear our burden to remember what was? The mokole can carry no more.

 I walk away from this sacrifice, may something grow elsewhere, because this truly is a place of death, let it stand as a monument to the price of failure. It isn’t just my failure, it isn’t just the failure of this dust, Dischordia has failed. We all have failed to recognize the madness within, to understand it, and solve it. Was it jealousy that drove you to this? What will you do now as this madness spreads and drives you all into the water? The darkness will swallow you whole and the lands will be as silent and still as the waters in the south. The blood you spill as you spread this madness will pool in your lands, this river will not wash away the stain, and nothing will cleanse you of your failures. Stop failing, move forward, finish what Balor has started and leave your legacy. I leave this legacy in the waters that birthed me into the world and no one will forget our sacrifice. Carry our story as you travel the world and the cosmos. Carry His light wherever you tread and believe. Learn from our mistake of not making our worthiness to exist clear to you all, we failed to show you our truth and make you believe in our purpose. You are all wonderful in your own ways, embrace your lands and your people, cherish all they do for you, and give them a reason to believe in you. Or else your losses will be empty and meaningless; forgettable.