So the war of the thousand years had started, even if most of the fighters didn’t realize it.
You needed to be a thousand year to invent it.
Who though could cross so many centuries, to see the grand picture and the chessboard, without getting lost within a few squares of a lifetime?
The Master admired the sky from the walls.
The light had won.
The matter was for how long.
Because barbarity would want to bring again darkness in the area.
The crescent wanted the night.
Because that land was not holy.
While the Master felt inside him the sun of Justice.
But for the sun to shift it needed dead.
And he had to write for the unborn.