Silver hair

Thirty-two heads... thirty-two heads lying at the floor of the valley. Blood reigns...

He stands before the heads, the ‘he’ who knows he isn’t the ‘he’ he used to be anymore. From now on, of course, he is a grander ‘he’. His name will also be something to reflect his grandness-Zermak, Ra’n of the Ra’ns, ruler of Alitia, high lord of the eight kingdoms, killer of the thirty-two heads, a god for all creatures... a god under false pretences.

Blood reigns all around the heads. It looks like...

If wondered from the beginning of the end, it’s their fault. Or... is he trying to compel his mind, to cover for his own howler, into deciding it’s their fault? That something in his head told him to eliminate them. And he has accepted the unknown voice’s order, killing them. Just... he is something greater now.

It looks like the heads have their own hair, deep grey hair emerging from tiny, invisible holes of the heads. But, this is not just a hair. That grey color...

They knew they couldn’t escape from his grip. Then, why did they flee? Such a stupidity! If they had tried to break out a scuffle between and, then, fought him face to face, they might have won. However, they tried to run, and end up dead.

That grey color is not the product of the hair itself. Souls...

He still respects them. Of course, he has just killed them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve his respect, does It? They were also grand, perhaps, as grand as him. To show that respect of his, he will make sure the book is published, granting their dying request.

Souls... human souls surround each string of the hair. For one who could hear well...

Accepting his greatness, he turned away from the sight of the dead heads. From behind, as always, his Ra’ns, who provided quite an aid in silencing the heads, bowed low to him­ with a hint of weariness on their posture.

For one who could hear well the moans of the souls send stirring echoes. Deep inside the moans, there are so many other cries, grey colored cries of stone, begging, pain, and deepness that give the hair of the heads the color deep grey.

But, the problem is everyone appears to be hearing-impaired. The cries of the souls are, then, swallowed by the deepness.

Tienos okon bozv...

O’son san-kalana o’tsq...

Borvo Alitia zi...

trn san-kalana barzi anehi!

Our cries are of pain...

If we’re not freed from our grey imprisonment…

O! You shall be warned motherland...

Since you’ve made yourself guilty by imprisoning us!