The loss of knowledge has never been a simple thing, they say the second death is when you are forgotten. Loss so significant, your reality crumbles under the feet of time. The slow march towards the end, an unforgettable trot for reinvention. This is what Plethicus felt upon seeing Ambrose leave. The lingering scent of his sweat, the harsh stench of rusted iron, the Clack of metal on the stone floor.
Why had it come to this? I was wrong, but were we really so opposed? My Light in a race, but while light is fast, nothing can escape Erebus. I am but a sideliner, A proxy for the finish line that will never be crossed. A victim on the ever growing thread The Fates, a spool of countless lifetimes, a toy for those of the divine and omniscient.
"How quaint."
Clang!
Clang!
C-