© 2025 Akademiya. All rights reserved.
Clutching a wavering ideal. Running and shouting across the barren red earth, then falling into sleep, only to wake up grown. Choosing chains of one's own making. Living on as a blade, scraping by. Investigating, interrogating, hunting... endless, numb, cold. Waiting for the promised judgment. Plucking a rotting new bud and stepping into winter, until at last welcoming life's final hope... death, warm and peaceful.
