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The ugliness of the world does not fade, nor are fear and grief made less by time, nor is any suffering forgotten. We are only made stronger by its blows.
One cannot step in the same river twice, and home is not home when you return, for you are not yourself. The man you were yesterday died yesterday, and is only a piece of the man of today, as you will be tomorrow.
But there is little right in all the universe, and none which we do not fight for and make for ourselves.
“How is it you always know?” “I read,” I said, and shrugged. “People always accuse me of wasting my time, but they don’t complain when I have their answers.”
“The world’s changed,” I allowed, and glanced back to where Prince Rafael Hatim sat with Garan Peake and the others. “But men have not. Nor will.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “We keep making the same choices. The same mistakes. So the same wisdom will ever serve us.”
“Angels are only demons that kept their oaths . . . and still serve good and truth.”
“These are grievous times. But perhaps so great a darkness calls for even greater light. It is written that no guide is known that can shelter the world from grief, for no man knows what God intends.”
“Oft hope is born when all is forlorn.”
The cosmos is not cold or indifferent because we are not indifferent, and we are a part of that cosmos, of that grand order which has dropped from the hand of He who created it. Every decision creates its ripples, every moment burns its mark on time, every action leads us ever nearer to that last day, that final last battle and the answer to that last question: Darkness? Or light?
“It is said that all spirits leave God of their own will to come here and fight for the good, even if they do not know it in this life,” he said. “Her spirit chose this fight.”
“There is much light you cannot see.”
Time runs down, and leaves no man unscarred . . . . . . leastways until the world is changed, and its god returns with new light.
