That’s why it feels so boring.
Tears, tears flowing in the world. Though silent, though intangible, this silent River of Tears engulfs the entire world. People slaughter each other, destroy and ruin, all because they fear these tears descending upon themselves, yet they create more tears.
This day by day, year by year cycle, is like a noose around the neck, an unbreakable reincarnation, where sentient beings circulate endlessly, but in the end, ultimately...
Ultimately, all will turn to ashes.
So that’s it. Dastiel suddenly understood. He had long known the aning of his life, that he too would eventually beco ashes, and he couldn’t change anything. This was the aning of his life.
So he wanted to burn, to incinerate everything. That unexplainable restlessness, that unspoken yearning, that desire to do sothing yet being unable to, could only lead to destruction.
So he felt bored.
"Fiery Fla Land doesn’t need you."
Feeling bored, he withdrew his hand. The man with crimson eyes turned his head: "You can’t change Fiery Fla Land either."
"Perhaps," said the dark shadow, "but I can endure even your blazing flas, perhaps I can endure this lightless night."
Having defeated Savaga—perhaps. In any case, Dastiel, who returned alive, beca the Crown Prince of the Fla Abyss Territory, beginning to handle state affairs.
Becoming the Crown Prince, this unanticipated position gave Dastiel no special feeling. He had thought that a role similar to King of the Monkeys or Queen Bee, sending people to their deaths in waves, directing others in all tasks, would excite him, would satisfy that unspoken yearning within... but it was the opposite. His spirit was more parched, like a scorching fla, without relief.
In the end, it must extinguish. What difference between king and subjects?
And forthcoming, is a full-scale war with The Empire.
War. A collective burning, a destruction from conformism. Dastiel had not the slightest interest in it; such matters were the dullest to him.
Yet, he found that for others in Fiery Fla Land, it seemingly wasn’t so.
The Old Farr heard the call to war, and his bent figure straightened. A glow appeared in his eyes as he began sending his sons and grandsons into the army.
The entire Fiery Fla Land, all poor families passionately responded to the war, a grand and exuberant enthusiasm that made Dastiel’s fla seem dim.
Why?
"Because life is like a fla; it needs to burn to shine."
This generation’s King of the Abyss of Flas, his great-grandfather answered, "We are like pri firewood, destined to have a day to burn. But these ordinary citizens, if without war, without earth-shaking events, when will they have their chance to burn, when can they shine their own fla?"
"But in war, they don’t stand a chance to shine..."
Dastiel murmured, "They will all be burned by the flas of war..."
"Without war, would they have the chance to shine?" said the King of Inferno Abyss, "You’ve killed so many, why feel such sentint? Dastiel... Do not hold unnecessary sympathy. Ultimately, we seemingly exalted kings, and these seemingly lowly citizens, under the sun, are equally fuel."
"We will all beco ashes in the end."
Yes.
Whether in war or peace, whether kings or citizens, they are ultimately the sa thing, sothing that ignites and disappears, sothing that ceases to exist after death.
If so, then one might as well burn, burn brightly.
A brief life that burns gloriously.
So, Dastiel saw.
He saw that to counter The Empire’s offensive, to unravel The Empire’s Storm Sorcery Formation set in the great desert, the scholars of Fiery Fla Land exerted themselves to the utmost, overcoming difficulties. The knowledge they acquired over decades now ignited, turning into a blaze illuminating the entire operations room.
In one month’s ti, they completely overca The Empire’s defensive array, stopped the storm, and destroyed twelve semi-permanent fortresses in the great desert.
They rejoiced, even though so collapsed from overwork, because, in this month, both Fiery Fla Land and The Empire were amazed by their wisdom, their nas destined to be inscribed in history, shining brightly.
This one month was their true life. Outside this month, their previous and subsequent lives were bleak and dull.
Dastiel saw a general of Nemasases personally lead a forceful assault on the reinforcents of the Seven Cities Alliance. That day and night of forced marching, an unexpected successful attack caught everyone off guard. The Seven Cities Alliance Army, caught in a pincer movent, was defeated. Yet even with extre losses, the assault troops exulted in the victory.
The splendor of that day and night illuminated everyone’s life, and even decades later, when the youthful soldiers had aged, with gray hair and loose teeth, they would pride themselves on that day’s light and mourn for their comrades who died gloriously.
And many more. Dastiel looked around the entire battlefield.
There were too many lights.
He saw his own cousin fighting a powerful enemy from The Empire. As defeat beca apparent, he fought desperately to trade injury for life. Those brief three seconds of reversal, that instant of mutual destruction, was the condensation of his entire past life.
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