Well, it's not fucking romantic.

Maybe it was in some kind of lyrical novel, but not now. not when the books rich in knowledge — the only thing he managed to isolate from this oppressive horror — burn to the ground, when the thick leather covers with very intriguing titles crumble to dust, not now. And, for some reason, it was this logical thing to some extent that finally finished off enki.

They needed to roast meat, they needed to keep warm, they needed to survive. But then why is there a lump in his throat, damned tears in his eyes, and his head is unusually quiet? Although no, it's not really quiet.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, his sister whispers, giggles at the ridiculous bloody patches of tangled hair and practically breathes deathly cold air into the back of his head, mocks the wayward brother, repeats the same words for the hundredth time

Now all his merits in blood magic, all his knowledge has no meaning, it's just a misunderstanding that fell on the head of someone who was absolutely not worthy of it. A complete failure.

Self—abasement is a desecration of the gods, because your body was given by them — so the ascetics said, looking at the youngster, and even here ankarian managed to make a mistake. The veins on his thin, pale arms swell, eyes darken, half-bare feet feel the cold of the stone floor, and enki shivers slightly of overwhelming feeling of emptiness and.. despair? Perhaps.