A solemn nod, steam suddenly venting from their body. "Yes. One can FORGET. Through that, one often finds RUIN."

Another thunderous laugh, the sound seeming to shake stars from the sky. "You have blood that runs HOT. The FIRST step to KNOWING. Hrm. Perhaps I will see you upon the steps of the ZIGGURAT."

"Yes. Become STRONGER. CRACK the earth with your step. BURN the air with your breath. I will be waiting for you on the PATH."

Even the aged oak will fall to the tempest's winds.

Success depends on survival.

They sit kneeling in the midst of a great desert, their sword stabbed deep into the shifting grains beside them. Their head is bowed, their mind once again wandering as it does.

The slow death - unforeseen, unforgiving.

Towering, fierce, terrible. Nightmare made material!

A soft exhale, the grass stirring with each drawn breath. They stay seated. Waiting.

As victories mount, so too will resistance.

Madness, our old friend!

The sound of stone grinding against stone. The earth rumbles as they move to their feet. Heavy footsteps follow them as they head towards the setting sun. Something draws them to the dying light.

"Mrm . . . So the star falls . . . Hrm."

Freed from the trappings of their humanity, they plied their terrible trade anew.

A deep breath in. A soft exhale, the wind following the path of their breath.

The sound of thunder in the distance. They stand up, the sky lit with that shine of lightning as they rise.

The sound of stone grinding against stone as they sit up. "Mrm . . . Loud . . ."

The GRINDING of steel against bone followed by the groan of another found UNWORTHY. The world grows quiet once again and thus they return to waiting . . .

The grinding of steel. The heavy stamp of footsteps. The hiss of steam being released.