Humanity hangs on to a thread, scattered and insignificant. The world grows lush, untainted by war or grand empires. However, that does not mean blood does not pour. It does so scarcely, yet brutally. There is no end to the hunger, and very few live to remember the times in which it could be contained.

Loss may lead to inquisitive anger, a vindictive rush that can only instill more sorrow.