There are places that hold weight beyond their geography. Moments that shaped what came after, though the details have been kept close, guarded carefully by those who witnessed them.

I am making a pilgrimage to such a place. It may be my last journey.

In a little under a month from now, I will depart from the bridge to Delos. The path will be long and leads far beyond familiar territory. I cannot promise safe passage or easy answers to those who follow. But for those who value understanding, even at cost, the journey may prove worthwhile.

My people speak of what occurred beneath the violet mountain in tones reserved for the sacred. A spirit who was not yet divine. A choice that changed him into something else entirely. The stories we keep are incomplete, fragments and implications rather than clear narrative, but they point to something profound.

He carries something from that place. I do not fully understand what, or why. That is part of why I must go, while I still can.

If you have ever wondered what shapes those who reshape themselves, or what it costs to stand at the edge of impossible decisions, then perhaps this matters to you as well.

I make no claims to expertise. I offer only passage to a place my people hold sacred, and the chance to stand where history bent in ways we are still trying to comprehend.

The bridge to Delos.

The choice to witness is yours. Mine has already been made.

Penned by my hand on the 7th of Glacian, in the year 1000 AF.