Ualdir, let not my spirit break...
How often have I repeated that prayer? For how many years?
How many years have I been on the precipice?
When I was there, living in a crypt, the prisoner of an undead, my life at the mercy of Xarxes' whims?
Living in the Maw, amidst a god and his cult?
Fighting in a world seemingly gone mad, when that great stomach grew?
Losing New Dexia...
Losing Taglia...
Igneous...
Melanthia
Renee
All in service of the Pantheon. Of Ualdir. Of life, and light. I have fought. I have bled. I have had my very soul ripped apart, feasted upon, burned...
And for what? To spend decades proving I was not a witch, to an ungrateful populace?
To strive, trying to earn Jokul's approval, his attention... Even a crumb of his help?
To build up the worship of Ualdir, to preach in his name, to offer what blessings and prayers I could over the years...
What was it for?
I have struggled uphill for decades. Stumbling, but never stopping. Fighting until there was nothing of me left... Even the very memories of my victories taken from me... Ripped away by that cursed blade.
My story is not even one I recall. I know the words. I know what I have been told. I know what little circulates. But my glory is not even known to me any longer.
I deserve better.
I deserve more.
Ualdir...
How long must I endure? I...
Please...
Let not my spirit...