Dear Bookah

Those caverns diverging in the cliff face, I am sure, are nothing more than relics of another time, empty hollows, barren antimatter laid down for a final translocation. I wash the blood from my armor and grip my weapon ever more tightly, my shaking arms will barely support waylays with the Inquest against the lake labs, much less my gifts of guidance to you.


Drojjenny’s thesis had not been accessed from the Rata Sum archives in decades. I decided it would never be missed as I destroyed access rights. If the subject matter is obscure, the scientist’s notations are even more so, it is not the text of a stable or trustworthy genius. Perhaps it is fitting that my only companion in these first days should be a stolen book written by an eccentric asura.

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