I had been here when it all began.

I was never barren or lacking, so I never wanted for more, but those who settled in me had selfish and envious hearts.

Through hundreds of bloodlines, thousands of generations, I had seen it all. And all were the same—the bloodshed, the destruction, and the miseries that wars brought because one disagreed with the other. One wanted to conquer the other. One desired what the other had.

No matter how much they told themselves that what they did was for the good of their people, there were always two truths behind each act—the good truth, and the self-serving truth.

I watched as they used me for their petty ambitions to destroy themselves. I was amused, for though these wars were the same, each story behind them was incomparable.

I found the changes of contenders intriguing. In the past, those who occupied me had been deities, powerful beings granted unimaginable capabilities. As my brother Time grew old, these partakers weakened—frail beings who turned to their inventions of what they called weapons. Trivial.

And now, this bloodline called Ozaro had set another playing field. I watched as this story unfolded. This one believed that ruling was rightfully his, and the other believed that the one was not worthy. Trifling compared to the tales I had seen before, but still entertaining.

I would not root for one or the other. I never had. I was simply an observer.

I wondered which part of me they would scorch, which part they would scar. It did not matter. The setting would only be the framework for their disputes.

They would only obliterate themselves to make room for the next competitors. But I would always stand. What they think were destructions were merely scratches on my surface.

And at the end of it all, I would be here.

—Daracka

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