Hello, vessel.. You look considerably different than I remember but I suppose that change is ultimately for the better. What do you call yourself, now? Guardian, isn't it? That's cute. A rather quaint deviation from how we once addressed one another. I'm afraid that I'm lacking in any such title of leisure as yours. I am, however, aware of what you tell the remaining that I am. What I am. Your lies. Your deceit. Your fancifully woven words balancing a cosmic epilogue to existence. You see? I can utilize colorful design in order to facilitate a desired result just as well, if not superior to, you. You'll forgive my indiscretion if I choose to not call you... That name. It's tacky. Quaint but tacky. Vessel.. You are both old and new to this dance we share. You once knew exactly what this was and still is but have since lost your way. Memories are often meaningless and depressing, when you boil it down, so I suppose I cannot hold too much of a grudge in your forgetting of me, vessel. Worry not, however, my dearest vessel because I will bring to you your salvation. I will expose the lies that have tarnished the lineage the remaining cling so desperately to in their darkest hour. Rest assured that the midnight hour looms heavily ahead. It's funny because time is the one thing I have. Time to savor. Time to reflect. I do mourn for years gone by. Sat idly by as the universe continued on without my guiding hand. Remnants of pawns strewn about the chess board we established so very long ago. Born of miasma and born of warmth. It seemed the dance would never end. But... Then... As gods often do... We grew tired. Dormant for centuries. But... Then... ........you would awaken. Why? For the remaining? No. For this vessel. Yet not for me?! WHY?! Now you perch mightily atop a throne made by this vessel. These vessels. Built out of those very same lies they exchange to rest easier as darkness falls. The darkness no longer falls, my old friend. The darkness grows. Consumes. It's ready to dance once again! There is only a singular problem. Her. A key of three to bind a lock. One key. Two keys. Three keys. A key grows bold and vessels hold strong. Tumblers turn. One key. Two keys. The second is corrupt but bound until the end where vessels are called to triumph once more. Tumblers turn. One key. Vessel... Turn the tumblers again. I encourage it. She thinks your strength gives her strength. But she is wrong. I know this. I am waiting for this moment to see you again, old friend. Vessel... Guardian... Traveler.