Somewhere in the cold reaches of an ancient Dimension, a bleeding man stands with his hands on cursed scales, and inside his chest, two old tenants have moved back into a house that evicted them long ago.
Doubt and fear.
And it should be said that even now, even trembling, some corner of that man is questioning. Weighing the gamble, counting the gains, tallying what a reversed curse and a seated Steed would be worth against everything he could lose!
He is not the first to face this homecoming. Every civilization that ever climbed has run the same argument about these two tenants, and the argument begins with corpses. The soldier who doubted his footing for one breath, and the bridge took him. The mother who feared the dark road and so took the long one, and arrived too late. Doubt is the pause where blades find throats. Fear is the counsel of a smaller life! The evidence dies loudly, and so every discipline of power teaches the same first lesson.
Purge them.
