And Circe?
Ah… Circe.
That is the problem, isn't it? No one remembers him. No history remains of the old villages. The tower is gone. The valley is no longer a valley. Kingdoms paved over the bones of the past and called it progress. Maps lie. Records rot. Truth is buried beneath centuries of lies and convenience.
But I know this—Circe is still alive. He bound me with forbidden light, with rituals that consumed life itself. Such magic does not fade. It sustains. It preserves. Men like him do not die easily. They linger. They hide. They rot behind false names and holy titles.
He is somewhere in this world. Breathing. Aging. Praying. And I will find him. I will tear apart kingdoms, scour archives, burn temples, and slaughter priests until his name screams itself back into existence. I will follow the echo of his magic wherever it hides. I will unearth him from whatever sanctified hole he crawled into.
