As I watch Damin coming to terms with the boy’s talent, I wonder what he will say and do if he learns about mine. In the west, beyond this great stretch of no man’s land, sorcery is more accepted than these plateau dwellers have even considered.
A narrow-minded bunch, ever afraid, even of their own shadows. I have watched the nobility among us and realise they are as afraid. They have clung to authority and status by their fingernails, using historical supremacy to rule the present. No more, for the great eye in the sky has levelled everyone to one status, that of survival.
As it is for my kind in the west. Whether sorcerer or scholar, layman or lawmaker, the orb above has erased all delusions.
I press my lips together to contain the need to shout my frustration. I desire to race alone to Arc, and everything be damned, but the truth is I need this march as I need those marching. We cannot restart a civilisation without willing hands and minds. Every living soul will count in the aftermath.
In the present, however, Lyra is all important. She is the reason I trekked across the plains and climbed the plateau. Our sages saw the two eyes in visions and began searching for one such among our own. One was found – a girl child of three years. She is too young to change the future for anyone, and thus it meant the one we sought was in the east.
I wish to be at her side as she stands before the Spire, but Lyra will not trust me if I arrive there alone. Not only are these marchers needed for the future, but I need them to prove trust to our saviour.
Damin Mur is the ultimate means to proof. For the present I aim to tell him as little as possible.