The HaRT Knight Decaverse

Correspondence from the Afterlife

Letter 07

Cara. One Year and Eight Months Since Departure.

A.,

Please pardon the tremor that afflicts my hand as I etch these words upon the parchment. A sense of urgency compels me, a looming darkness that threatens to extinguish the embers of my resolve. In this village of Cara, where time's relentless tide has transported me, I stand at a precipice--the abyss of truth yawns beneath my very feet. With fervent prayer, may these lines convey the gravity of what has transpired.
As the date attests, I have embarked upon the revelation-laden shores of Cara, the same settlement I alluded to in prior communiques. Yet, my return bears tidings veiled in somber tones, for I have ventured forth and plumbed the mysteries of the Forbidden Garden--a sojourn that has forever altered the fabric of my understanding. A mantle of apprehension drapes my shoulders, my quaking hand an echo of the tumult that rages within.
It is with heavy heart that I pen the bitter realization, A.--the Shepherd King, he who once presided over the realm as the embodiment of Death, has relinquished his grasp on existence. Death has died. The how and the why remain enshrouded in the abyss of unknowing. Bereft of these essential truths, I am left to grasp the waning tendrils of this revelation--the very paragon of mortality has transcended mortality itself. As jigsaw pieces cascade into place, a portrait of utter chaos unfurls--his absence, akin to an intractable tear within the very fabric of existence, has wreaked havoc upon the afterworld. Nature itself, unmoored by his absence, stumbles within the throes of disarray, a maelstrom echoing his relinquished grasp. My realization takes root--this crisis, this calamity that envelopes us, dwarfs any prior imaginings. The magnitude of our challenge surpasses the boundaries of comprehension; an ailment far too pervasive to mend, an echo too distant to quell.
These trembling fingers wield the instruments of my confession, A., for they carry a burden of truth that shatters the illusion of my own strength. The Hall of Heroes, that esteemed threshold of valor and mettle, may have evaded my grasp. For I stand here, teetering upon the precipice of inadequacy, my weakness exposed to the unforgiving glare of reality. I am ill-equipped to avert this looming catastrophe. Desperation courses through my veins, my being shackled by the realization of my own insufficiency.
Regret courses like a river, its currents unrelenting. The stark truth before me, like the Sword of the Reaper himself, taunts my hopes and dreams. I stand as a witness to my own limitations, a powerless observer in the face of a cosmic upheaval. I have failed, A., to unearth the salvation this realm so desperately craves.
With the weight of my shortcomings pressing heavy upon my heart, I etch these words of bitter truth. In my weakness, may you find strength, my friend. My journey's end draws nigh, my path diverted by the call of the abyss that threatens to consume all. I have faltered, yet may you forge ahead with courage unyielding.

With the deepest regrets
Amobiel