How sad to see Enorian in this state! Yea, the Beacon has been reduced to a city of eunuchs, bereft of anything even resembling a single ideal to which it might cling.

Indeed, there was a spark of hope when you castigated the architect of disaster, that damnable Witch, for dooming the world to an Age of Night, for condemning us all to fight and claw to stop the encroaching rot. And yet, I fear the decay inside of you has reached the root, for you have collapsed upon yourself. You cannot even stick to a single conviction to see justice done to a murderer!

To see Enorian as a toothless dog, snarling at those who pass only to flee with its tail between its legs when one gets too close, breaks my heart. I do not taunt you at this, your lowest point: no, I pity the eunuchs. I pity the poor, downtrodden fools whose lips carry only false platitudes, whose throats have only empty, flailing zeal.

Indeed, as you are now, you cannot even serve as a whetstone against which the knife of Malice might be sharpened. The Son of Autumn must weep for the loss of such an enemy to gird ourselves against, to see it laid low by itself.

But take heart: it is in this, your lowest point, that you can be rebuilt. Is not the vase more beautiful, shot through with jade that holds its disparate pieces together? You have allowed yourselves to fall to pieces, and it is in this vulnerable state you can finally embrace Chakrasul, and be rebuilt stronger than ever.

Those of you who are sick of Enorian's continuous failures, come forth. I will embrace you and take you to my bosom. I will draw you into Her Divine Grace, and in Esityi you will find purpose. Ever downwards.

Abi dor Esityi,
Rijetta

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 17th of Chakros, in the year 504 MA.