Why do the Andrastians insist upon the Chant needing to be sung in all the corners of the world? What do they hope to wake with their own endless song? [ in the end— the bitter, bitter end— he is only feverish. but he pours out the words like a prophet, endowed with all his age and authority.

it is more than myr asked for. ]

But they have failed—so far— and our people have been dreaming and hoping for so much longer. A dream in the Fade, solidified over years, calling out to us, the right moment and right Craft creating an imprint, and we, summoned, arriving— the sum of two thousand years of hopes.