We called that era the Age of Light and Roses. It took four hundred years for us to truly understand the meaning of that name.

At that time, the capital of the world shone brightly, and thousands of roses bloomed in the grand library. We forgot the differences between races and loved each other, striving to save one another.

The day we reached the place where the world was born, everything began. The door opened, and we stepped into the garden. And then we were divided.

Forgotten gods and heroes, you were all my friends.

When the final war swept away all beauty, we had to do something.

Whether by loving each other or by pointing swords at each other, that was how we breathed.

Though you are no longer by my side, I want to write about the world we were born in thousands of times over.

I do not forget the covenant on the altar hill nor the promise with the goddess.

I cannot forget anything, yet all of it is now gone. I was the gravestone placed at the spot where the world was buried.

However, even from the grave, new lives are born again, and today I am looking at the world created by those new lives.

A world as beautiful and sinful as the one we created.

Thus, the final war has neither ended nor begun. I, Lucius Quinto, must bear witness to it all. Is not the world of today the offspring of you and me?

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