" -Power is a good thing after all is said and done, granting the wishes of those mighty enough to wield and grasp it, while punishing the unworthy scum of the realms. So, how can power be a bad thing? Because it does this too well. And, soon enough, everyone's scum, and the only one remaining at the top of the world is determined to be the greatest scum by everyone else, someone who is hungry for it and mongering for it. Thus, the weak rats out the greatest scum and declare another the greatest, until they ultimately become 'unworthy' again, as determined by the same, weak, bottom-feeders. For more often than not, the most powerful in the world are the weakest. That is why the system of Power is flawed, as it ultimately makes everyone out to be insignificant and weak while failing to deliver its promise of creating a suitable and powerful leader for those scum, made only out of the population of those unworthy individuals. However, one should be able to make that conclusion easily but then they realise that they fall in that flawed system too, declaring the system of Power as terrible as themselves. Power is not a bad thing. Instead, the scum are the problem. Yet, in a society where Power is obsolete, even the weak find a way to plant the seeds of power in society, as no matter who you are, what your ambitions are, power is the driving force of all of that. Say, you want to become a distinguished soldier on the battlefield, and for what? The power of that position. You want to get better at making decisions, and for what? To become more powerful in the eyes of others. Finally, you want to talk about how scummy power is, and for what? In order to gain the feeling of power at the thought of people agreeing and discussing your concept of power. That, is why power is flawed in only one way: the fact that it is not."

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-Galem's Last Proclamations, by Edward Duskwalker

When I had emerged from my forsaken mother's womb, I only felt dread. Dread for the world I was about to be born in and dread for what was about to come. Yet, I was welcomed by a friendly face, clad in leather armour, with red smears covering his body. That was who became my father. A man who carried me away from my mother's arms, while his comrades killed and butchered her. Screams such as those, the ones that slice through the air, stick with you for the rest of your life, but I was happy, with not a tear on my cheek or a cry emerging on my face. I believe that, at that moment, I was the happiest I would ever be.