They came at night and set the surroundings forests ablaze. As the flames reach our village, an army of figures in black armor emerged and started the killing. As the last houses fell and flesh was rendered and seared, only a single child remained over the defiled bodies. A small satyr frozen in shock. A horned warrior approached him, yet instead of flinchig or recoiling, the child stood up and closed it's eyes, embracing the end. When the child opened it's eyes once more, there was no fire, no warriors, on it with it's eternal curse and greatest freedom a living being can have.

No matter how much one cheats, death always wins.