This world, deserves to die.

Thousands suffered.

Thousands died.

And for what?

Nothing.

This war has been going on for millennia.

No end.

No beginning.

Just fighting.

Fighting for generations.

This generation could change that.

They could end the terror.

The terror of going extinct.

The Lore are vanishing.

Yet fighting for a life.

Very foolish.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The king in Argona won’t stop.

He will stop when they are dead.

Every.

Last.

One.

Thirty years since it started.

It must end.

But does he realize?

What will happen?

When Woodland vanishes?

The jungles will go too.

So will the trees.

That allows them all to breathe.

This is all moronic.

No one cares.

What happens.

To the Lore.

The Black Lore have it too.

Askätori is throwing them in chains.

She wants them gone.

She and Randor would make good allies.

If only they weren’t on opposite sides of the world.

Wither’s people are to die.

So is Woodland’s.

The First One made Her choice.

We are all doomed.

And there’s nothing anyone can do.

But . . .

There is hope.

People despise hope.

It’s a worthless, shriveled thing.

This hope, is very small.

So small, it barely exists.

Javelin.

That’s our hope.

A single shaft of metal.

Filled with power.

It’s a shame,

That only one of Dragon Blood.

Can wield it.

They say this person cooked in the belly.

Of a dragon.

What bullshit.

I would see this planet burn.

All its pitiful inhabitants too.

But She cares for it.

And the Kin of Suns would give their lives for it.

There is something wrong with them.

This world is as good as dead.

We are gods.

They are nothing.

Their lives are meaningless.

So why does Xroim refuse to believe that?

The Xyiri fight with him.

Stupid fools.

That will only get them killed.