We work in order.
We are living bastions.
Swords are for aggression. Shields defend against aggression. We do not take kindly against aggression.
A lonely Hatcher wondering up to the Gates.
A malevolent plot skewered in its mind, adorned with the pearls of life.
The gates open.
We are out.
“State your business,” we say.
It returns a blank stare.
“Shields at ready,” I say.
That is what you call your own vessel, no?
The smaller of us bring out their guards, even stronger than the defenders of the Hearths’.
And it is gone.
Blue wisps fly from them all.
A massacre of amphibious intruders.
As we return back into the gates.
We are replaceable. Expendable.
We do not need to have conversation, as we are all the same.
Emotions and connects are weaknesses.
The diamond crest upon I head‑ hm? It is “my”? Apologies. The diamond crest upon my head will always be passed on. It is we, not my vessel.
We will all rust over time. We are comparable to pawns. That is all we have been. Now, we believe it is time for you to go. We are not for questions.
Hm, what’s that? Why we are here?…
…He told us to be.
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