I envy you at times, Nomad. You act in service of survival. You move with purpose, to protect a fragile
existence. Your mind is assaulted by reality, that you are a mote of dust adrift a desert without end. Yet it
shields itself with hope. A flimsy falsehood that halts the crashing truth of hopelessness all the same. Order
and ambition urge progress, and time and entropy stay progress' hand. Her progenitor sought to test the
limits of limitless power, to bear the burden of the creator and wade through time's mire. A meaningless
obstacle in the face of eternity. But silence deafens all.