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Amidst the masses of esoteric ramblings, the scourge is established.

Exempt from courtesy's of Meranthe; the page is finalized. 
Heretical in nature, it approaches divinity with adversity, repelling the temptations of the Fel all the while. 

Now confirmed, the author appoints his construct a title of definite meaning. 

Encircled by his blood, it speaks- multiple runic inscriptions both prohibiting and inaugurating its authority, its meaning. 

With baited breaths, the author reviews its creation, immersed within its own construct. 

. . .

"The Sun has blackened." 

The text continues. 

"Purposely ostracized, I nod. 
My doctrine initiated; I smile.
Temporarily forsaken, I acknowledge.

The travesty's of creation. 
The hindrances of morality. 
The falsified narrative spun by those of divine lineage. 
It interests me, so. Every bit of information absolved from society- forever shunned and discarded. 

In turn, I valued the SELF. I referred to this primordial aspect acquainted with every beating or un-beating, existence. 
And expectedly, for that reason, I was ridiculed. 

But.

This is ideal, my singular 'want.'
To further my development, I must first consume. 
After my consumption, I must then be destroyed. 
After my destruction ensues, my bones and flesh must be extracted. 
They must be scattered, they must be destroyed, they must be demolished. 
I shall return to nothingness, from wince we originated. 

And for then, and only then, may I fully observe the mechanisms of the SELF. 
Everything will be disintegrated, and with this confirmation, I will rearise from the darkness.
The world has designated me a fine hand, multitudinous artifacts miraculously manifesting within my arms.

Such is fated. 
 
And with such objects, I shall break the chains of fate. 

These feats could belong to no Demon, no Divine. 

Such could only be attributed to MYSELF. 

In due time, I shall bite into the unknown, the unseen. 
Shall it respond? Shall it punish me? 

I am unsure.

But time will only tell. 

My dearest sister, I thank you for your constant aid.

Ashe, my love for you cannot be described, explained. It is a constant restriction placed upon me, but it is the only hindrance I will not rebuke. 

Child of mine, witness my development, take notice of its innerworkings. 

Grandmother, I have taken notice of your projects. I can safely deem you as one of this continent's greatest minds, despite what you may believe. 

Father.

Simply, acknowledge your better.

For a corpse cannot recognize its own flesh and blood." 

The text shortly ends, its meaning entirely obfuscated by the cryptic writing of the Sun.

Of Raian himself. 

The Hawkendove lingers, clinging onto its ancestral remnants. 
Long since departed from Agartha, long since rebuked its own meaning. 

The Sun inverses, the spirits have begun to grasp him. 
In time, he shall take notice, lest he become devoured by his own ignorance.