@afflictus
He was the heavy-hearted architect of the inevitable, walking a path paved with the terrible clarity of foresight. Every skirmish, every breath, every turn of the blade—he foretold them all with the cold precision of a clock, never once faltering in his vision of the end.
Yet, in the grand calculus of destiny, the oracle stumbled upon a beautiful mistake. He wagered on oblivion; he prophesied that his name would dissolve like salt in the ocean of time, his deeds buried beneath the indifference of history.
But memory, it turns out, is a stubborn thing. A decade has passed—and then some—yet the silence he predicted has been drowned out by reverence. Stone and bronze now rise to wear his face, monuments standing tall against the sky he thought would forget him. He was right about his death, certainly, but he was magnificently, gloriously wrong about his immortality.
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