Losses have mounted over time.
Small gains have offset them slightly,
But the loss is still greater.

And still it builds.

A quiet voice cries, lost in sorrow.
So much is gone, so much can not be replaced.

And still it builds.

An upturn, a way to halt the darkness.
Cleansing happens. Light returns in small bits.
Many rejoice.

And still it builds.

A heavy loss, names memorialised in time are no more.
Still, strength holds, even without the pillar it was built around.

And still it builds.

The thoughts of all, the loss of many,
All are given away in the end of it.

And still it builds.

Anger.
Envy.
Vengeance.
Hope.
Duty.
Sorrow.
Anticipation.

And still it builds.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Lupar, in the year 613 AF.