The last remnants of the lists the Magic-weavers had compiled, now rounded up or tricked by Naibun into coming here. With their passing, the Velsh, the Forlish, the Breconians, the Landish … all the people of this land would be greatly reduced. In here was magic, knowledge, light and goodness. Soon to be destroyed. Men and women from every country across the land prayed together, knowing that was all they had left. I gave them one flicker of hope, explained how the elves would be sealed off from the rest of the world until their magic was almost done, that the rest of the lands would be protected from elven conquest. It provided little cheer, although I found some myself in seeing the way men from Landia kneeled beside those from Forland, embraced Balians and wept with Skillian Islanders. Given something to unite them, these men had put aside their petty differences. Perhaps it could happen again. As for me, I wrote this account in the old language, Nipponese, and used my limited magic to protect it, hide it behind the Aroaril stone in this human church.
