The quiet horror of being subsumed entirely by the Didact's imprint. Bornsteller. Only ever in his dreams.
The way Riser lays on the packed dry earth, words forcing themselves from his body under the old rage of resentful ghosts.
The Admiral, reaching through the ages to call out to us, buried within the ghost of another man's memory.
Theyre in us too, the distilled fragments of warrior spirits, sleeping until the Librarian smiles softly upon us too.
A bitter-sweet threat.










