I meant to write about my time in Querion, but the problems of the present occupy the forefront of my thoughts.

  I've been thinking about Zakros. Not because of the feelings my younger self held for him, but because what will happen when I'm gone. When the wielder of death claims me.

  I've been the only ruler of Acraeon in all of its existence. It carries my name, because in a sense, I am Acraeon. Who would hold my mantle? Xerith? Valos? Elythar?

  Members of my Sep'acri. My pantheon. They were nothing more than weapons to call on. I can't trust them. Prideful, selfish creatures, all of them. They still resent me for what I did to them.

  It takes a special breed of Asc'rai to ascend to Veyr'thos. They don't bend the knee easily.

  I made them bow. They joined, or they died.

  The Empire will certainly fracture when I go. The Solar Spires won't get the Helonite they need to power their Sunwall. Zakros will escape the Hallow Reach.

  While they war with each other, Zakros's hive will devour their people, their planets, their stars and there is not even the Veyr'thos can stop him. A man of a million souls is not felled easily.

  Maybe I should have listened to Orik. Rally the Sep'acri and the take the fight to Zakros. With twelve Veyr'thos Asc'rai and myself, an Asc'thera at their head, surely we could defeat him.

  I should have listened. But he forced my hand, forming his little rebellion under the guise of pious followers. I had to kill him. Had to.

  He's been there from the beginning. He believed in our purpose. Why did Orik stray? Our goals never changed.

  What have I done?