[Bologna Prime]

With only the fanfare of its own apparent sight: The Lumin King clad in a whorl of aurorean veils auspicious and timeless to light the closing nights of Winter. At his perch in wait for an hour unbeknownst to most yet unhidden to he, a book of artful reminiscence rendered for a history spannig millenia binding pages of stained glass writ upon in pure light lay in his lap. Chords ancient and hollowed, sacred mysteries dictated in the notation of music, quietly perused alongside many more pages left bare in yearning for fulfillment. Spare for a privileged few, those who ask the occasion as he holds this vigil are given only cryptic soliloquies on elegy and eulogy and the transcendent nature of purest art and beauty.

The course uncovered and hour of its pursuit would not elude that Delphinan host, and so he and his may arrive unbidden to the crucible of fates with. The purpose of this entourage, perhaps, of simple accord with what else has been set in motion. So some may presume, and so that same privileged few would know the cleft of divergence waiting to be split between designs for the future to come - a boon to the cry of vengeance surely, yet so too all the songs of eternal memory which may play beyond that decisive moment.  A conviction of thus however it must come to pass, in all it does and does not assure for those abruptly joined:

When the day is done, may heavens' vengeance be dealt at last.
For all which is won, may it be so for Mestra.
That none shall eclipse Their memory owed to eternity.
Within which lie the succor to heavens' grief.