Phoenix in Obsidian

Because I had sought to challenge Destiny, Destiny had taken vengeance.

All Empires fall,

All ages die,

All strife shall be in vain.

All Kings go down,

All hope must fail,

But Tanelorn remains—

Our Tanelorn remains...

Destiny’s Champion,

Fate’s fool.

Eternity’s Soldier,

Time’s Tool.

“I would be grateful if I was allowed to work out my own destiny for once,” I said. “For good or ill.”

Here, I thought, I had found the human race in its final stages of decadence—perverse, insouciant, without ambition. And I could not blame them. After all, they had no future.

Nothing is known for certain, Isarda. All knowledge is illusion—purpose is a meaningless word, a mere sound, a reassuring fragment of melody in a cacophony of clashing chords. All is flux—matter is like these jewels. (She throws a handful of gleaming gems upon the golden surface; they scatter. When the last jewel has ceased to move, she looks up at him.) Sometimes they fall into a rough pattern, usually they do not. So as this moment, a pattern has been formed—you and I stand here speaking. But at any moment that which constitutes our beings may be scattered again.