So I was sitting, on the roof of a broken house, away from the one place I called home. No one has lived in this house for decades, and yet it has given some the impression of a home. Although it was empty and on the verge of collapsing, it was again warmer than the few walls in which I spent time. I spent time writing words, knowledge, skills, years and years of experimenting and giving up. In these yellow pages of parchment I stamped everything I had ever achieved in my life, liters of ink and decades of life. And all this with the hope that someone will read it sometime, understand it, and maybe just give me credit for my hard work. In some crazy dreams, I even dreamed that my words would change someone's life. But then that whimsical part of my mind turns, And I think, what what I wrote will be able to change anyone's life, when the mana that I created those thousands and thousands of pages did not change anything.
I sat like that, Still on the rugged thatched roof, watching from that spot a city that stretched across the valley between two solitary mountains. Classic mountain, trading town. Once upon a time a city of knowledge, exploration and progress through this knowledge, and now progress through the sale of wood and ore. People were passing, empty gazes, heads lowered, alone with their worries. It was never a joyful place to live. First of all, because of the position, any military or looting company that ever intended to visit the Seventh Kingdom had to go through here. And so the people of this city always suffered, but remained stubborn in spite of the sacrifices, and remained in their place.
And so I, for centuries, continued to cultivate in myself and in my home what this city used to be. The capital of science. And now, the only science that could be seen here, were the ordinary clutches of even more ordinary mathematical operations that follow the flow of money. And the people who did it were even weirder. They didn't see the beauty in those numbers, or what can be done about them.
Even everyone forgot magic, not that it didn't exist, but people cut it short. As science no longer ruled this part of the Kingdom, so was magic increasingly difficult to access. You see, only the one who knows, really knows the laws of nature, can rule it, or some small part of it. And so, I kept the legends, creating new, new myths and legends. Kept old. And all this with the hope that something will change. I could see the coming evil, the same one that made people forget who they were and where they were from. Nobody for years comes to me, nobody wants my stories or advice. They don't even come for the medication. So I wrote, and waited. But no one came.
So now I am waiting here, on the outskirts of a city that is my home, and to which I do not belong. On a rugged roof that should collapse but still stand in the face of change. We wait together.