Does he speak, or will he just sit and ignore the cries of the crowd?
Does he fear retribution or is the chill of terror on his spine? When
will he learn the hard paths of life are often learned with ease, unless
through the blindness of fate he stumbles into the dawn of the new
world?
Alas in his mind he sleeps, ever seeing, ever hearing. Yet in the world
that he travels he alone can visit the distant lands. One day he will
wake from the ethereal dream and begin a new journey, one filled with
life and death. One that will shake the very foundations of his
being...but alas he sleeps on in his own world. The whispers of the real
touch his mind, teasing, aching for acceptance.
When at last the warmth of love returns to his distant form, shall he
embrace the newfound desires? Or in the end will he destroy the world in
his own fear of the destiny promised to him? Through the fear and loss
of life, the voices return, familiar, yearning and yet he still does not
conform to the life that can be chosen. At last in the cold visages of
reality he regains his vigor and faith. Through discipline and faith he
defeats the fear, the unyielding wail of terror that screams across the
land.
When his task is finished he returns to those who worship the Dream,
those who know his true identity, the true face behind the discipline.
As he drifts into the void once again the voices become silent. The cold
and torn nation is left behind, un-ruled, yearning for the conqueror of
the fear and the terror that once plagued the land.
His task finished, he departs for the Dream. Now as told in the legends
I shall join him, for I am the teller of his stories. I shall call him
in the time of despair, I alone have the ability to understand him. In
the Dream he does not wish for fame, for glory, or for the companionship
of others. But in some way he has a need for them, and one day as it is
told he shall receive he due reward.

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Midsummer, in the year 114 MA.