Alith caught himself staring at the night sky, deep in thought, thinking about nothing—feeling so much, yet so much more nothing.
The sun was their god. Every star in the sky was a soldier: a god and his soldiers of light, waging war against the dark, only to be engulfed each and every night—only to try again the next morning.
'What a romantic tale', he thought. His thoughts grew somber.
Alith's people were called the Sarin by the Ardentia. They said the Sarin were descendants of the darkness itself. They had pale grey, almost colorless skin. That small coincidence was used to fuel a propaganda campaign that resulted in the massacre of nearly every Sarin.
'How could they believe so strongly?' His thoughts grew darker. 'Their hate made them deaf to our pleas and blind to their sins. They didn't know us at all.'
A familiar dread resurfaced.