In this wasted space, I lie, troubled and disturbed. The Order found my teachings to be heretical and imprisoned me to await my fate. Perhaps they were right, or were just attempting to appease their living god. Whichever it may be, I am stuck in this cell, behind bars, away from liberty.
Our people had an ancient legacy, a history the current regime won't espouse for the Order declared it blasphemous. But it is true. While the Order was extant for close to a thousand years, the Temple that came before lasted nearly seven thousand. If not for the descent of those new gods we now worship, it may have persisted up until this very moment.
I must have been sent here as I discovered the secret of these pretender deities. We venerate them, but they defile us. Have defiled us since the beginning. I shall admit that they are powerful, for they had slain our older gods. But strength alone does not inspire faith. They could call down a star from the heavens yet fail to move the masses.
Indeed, the very miracle that saved our people was in fact a preventative measure put in place by these gods for a problem they had caused themselves. Dousing us in flame and drenching us with water. All a sorry façade to maintain their mythical grip on our civilization.
For they are vagabonds from afar, lost and helpless without a way to return. They settled here, on our soil, undue and unfounded. Now, we worship these vagrant scum. If, if only my people could see the truth!
I must set down my doctrine in writing, for they are without falsehood or deceit. I saw the proof of their illegitimate divinity with mine eyes, thou shalt witness in time!
I hear the Ordinators entering my chamber. They whisper of execution. Mine.
I now realize that faith cannot be limited to just life. Anyone can do that. Only unto death and into that which is to come can my faith prove itself beyond mortal constraints. As I die, my ancestors shall smile upon me. With my death, I prove my faith in the old gods.