I spent my life seeking the correct way to die. At the end of my search, I was sentenced to death.

Every action, even inaction, has a consequence. The sword that would take my life traced a gold thread of stars as it rose, the very culmination of a life spent in vain.

Heaven’s tribunal accused me of crimes, of sins, of horrendous deeds that I could neither confirm nor deny. I had no words left to give, as my eternal search for meaning had left me less than human.

During my journey, my techniques clashed against hundreds, maybe thousands of opposing ways of life. I fought against many, striving to prove that my ideals were stronger than theirs, that I chose the correct path through life.

Do we, creatures forced to march on the thorny path of life, have any power to correct ourselves? By the time we are born, we are trapped in an endlessly complicated web of action and consequence, a web spun by our mothers and fathers, our mentors and nations. It was my belief that we do not.

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You could say the entire world disagreed with me.

On that final day, the weapons of many dug into my back.

An axe belonged to a stranger.

A spear from a nemesis, a staff from a comrade.

A blade from a friend.

These were the chains that held me down, the cruel thorns of karma.

This result I had to accept, as from the day I was born, I was already bound by the inescapable chains of fate.

Every path has its end, and mine concluded underneath a new night sky.

Thus, my last act should be consistent with the way I lived.

I walked this earth with my eyes open, seeking to create a world without evil. If my life was the price of harmony, then I shall accept it with open arms.

If the world stands against me, then I do not wish to guilt them with my death. If this is the end of the path I’ve chosen, I will burden no one and depart alone.

And so, before they could kill me, I took my own head.