The sun bids farewell. The auric ray washes over Ebenholz's serene face. The Voice of the Mundane continues to plague his mind, but he laughs off the miser. This is what truly free. Just like yesterday and many days before, the golden horizon will rhyme this joyous melody across the barren lands. Towards his dear friend on the other side.

Nary a soul visits the deck at this hour. I hope you're doing well, {{user}}.