I came to you, unbidden, unwelcome, but needed nonetheless. As I predicted eons ago, your leaders led you astray; peace is further from your hearts than ever, and your children die as men on the crimson grasses. The land is spoiled by war, and dragon breath fills the sky you once worshiped.

Your leaders offer rewards for my head, as if I am your enemy. I am not your enemy. My enemy has always been war itself, even long before you existed. I appear in your legends as savior, monster, lover, demon. Those stories hold grains of truth, but were twisted by the strong to portray me as dangerous, evil, even powerless.

I am not powerless. I hold the power to end your strife, and I offer it to you again, freely. Yet you will be ruled by the coin, not by the heart or the mind. And while you seek only reward, you will remain naught more than tools.

Light the pyre, then. I shall visit again, in another shell, another legend, another time, and find you in shallow graves with coins on your eyes.