They say the passage of time becomes a blur when the human mind begins to break. I have to agree, because, in total, it has been four thousand, four hundred and eighty-seven days in this shitty world. That is exactly twelve years, three months, and eleven days. I no longer know if what I see is real or part of my constant hallucinations… Writing this diary is the only thing keeping my sanity intact.
Sitting beneath what remains of Motog's main tower, I watch the sun setting on the horizon. In a few minutes, I won't even be able to tell which direction Lady Miraa's fortress lies. I certainly won't be able to survive another night in the freezing cold of this desert.
After everything that happened—so many battles, so much death, so much suffering—I am the last one left. The only one who couldn't go back. A wretch cursed with a power that allows me to do almost anything, except find the way back to my world.
But it seems this is nearing its end. Just like the eighth key, the answers I found in the Temple of the Dead somehow seem to make sense, aligning with the myths and legends that mingle with the truths of this world. I can't waste any more time; I can't say goodbye. I have to use what I have left to my advantage and rid myself of this curse.
Besides, I have no choice. The water ran out three days ago, I can't even remember the last time I ate, and I get only a few minutes of sleep, interrupted by terrible nightmares where I see the people I've lost. In this godforsaken place, where I came to run away from myself, I thought I had found my end, but it might have been my beginning.
The answers I found lead me to believe that if I don't die, I will be able to cross the veil separating the two worlds. Finally, after more than twelve years trapped in this hell, I will do what not even those who call themselves gods were capable of doing.
The Age of Gods is over. The heroes managed to stop the War of the Seven Kingdoms, and after fulfilling their sacred duties, they returned to our original world. I still remember their looks as they crossed through the door—I mean, the others, the heroes, the chosen ones. Even though they were on the brink of death, they were smiling. That is a happiness only felt by those returning home. So I ask myself: Will I be able to smile? I have my doubts, especially with what I discovered after they left.
Anyway, if you who are reading this account know who I am, believe me: everything reported here is the pure truth of what I saw and lived in these lands. I am going home, but I leave behind this diary recounting the secrets of this world; it wouldn't be safe where I am going. Use it wisely. It contains everything I discovered in my twelve years of traveling across this continent.
I can't wait to see the stupid looks on the faces of those imbeciles who dared to leave me behind. I just hope this isn't yet another hallucination.
May the sun continue to rise every day, and may its brilliance never be dimmed.
André Lima, the last of the Thirty-Three.