Alone.
I batter blades in a sea of
mimics, all raging the same roar,
all singing the same steel.
Alone.
“I fight for my family’s freedom,”
three hundred cry.
“I bleed for the blessing of the divines,”
six hundred more squall.
“I perish for power,”
they all moan.
I stand with my sword swinging at my side,
silent, without anything to fight for,
to bleed for,
to die for.
Alone.
Stellular Scribe 