"Perhaps even the sun is but a dim star before the deep, long night," "But though fate be cruel and deceitful, it has never taken hope from us." "Courage and memory have forged your throne, death and sacrifice piled as firewood for your rekindling," "Oh unconquered sun, you who have shone upon generations unnumbered, bear witness now to Natlan's ideals and its future!" Like the first ray of light cast by the awakening day, like dawn piercing through the hedge of night. When the great dragon who defied the heavens bowed its head, the long campaign finally reached an end. Stepping across the long and bloodied stair, the leader of the mortals reached for the primal flame, unquenched within the ineffable city, Though the people who had crushed the shackles laid upon them by another race had yet to learn the fate that awaited them. Before the fire-stealing sage could speak, the god who pronounced death came forth without warning and showed the human Archon the arc of fate. It was a terrifying vision beyond human ken, a future with even less hope than draconic tyranny. All life would be devoured by boundless darkness, turned into inorganic dust within the eternal abyss. The human Archon, whose domain was war, knew then that Natlan was not yet victorious, for a new war had now begun. The dragon sage's foresight had told of Natlan's future rulers, one like a manticore, one like a wild fox. But he did not expect to come to revere the wisdom and cunning of Xbalanque, the Pyro Archon. The human Archon bartered with "death" for power, and the wisest of dragons too submitted to his plans. But he had never intended to submit to the rules, nor did he ever consider fulfilling his oath to the one who had stolen the flame. By the name "Haborym," life had become the sacred flame unquenchable, and the rules would be crafted into a divine throne ever-blazing. People would choose to fight back with courage and perseverance, even in the face of horrors and despair beyond comprehension. Of course, short-lived lives would surely burn out, but the sunlight would disperse the darkness again and again. For the first sun that shone over the land of blazing fire saw something in the primal flame, in the ashes, in the eyes of countless people... He saw the tainted one, defiled and devoured by the black abyss, yet nonetheless fighting to the last for humanity's sake. He saw the artisan whose eyes were dyed with golden tears, who, alongside the crimson-eyed youth, ensured that the Sacred Flame would endure. He saw the lost tribe wandering the land, their warriors still fighting for freedom, He saw the warm blood, offered unto the burning sparks of stars that lit up the long night, until a thousand suns had risen... "Lord of the Night, I entreat you, chronicle this, the first sun — the first Ancient Name, 'Kiongozi.'" "I shall leave hope for the future. So long as the flame does not die, there shall still be 'hope.'"