Allan the sentinel of the garden sat perched like a bird on the guard platform. It was the second age and the bringer of life had fallen to the glorious dark. He had had a hand in that, Allan supposed. It had been his plan after all that had been accepted by the nightwalkers, he had even waved the banner of the variance atop the tower of life signifying victory. But then the dark had gone, disappeared from open view, the world was the darkness’s now, what reasons would the nightwalkers have to remain for people to hate and envy. They had left without a word, disappearing silently to the Pits of the Variant. They might profess to be evil but Allan knew better and so did many of his compatriots. They were people, they bled in battle, they wept, and they felt hate. But above all they were the most valiant of the Variant from ages past, men who had not been acclaimed or given lordship over any lands, just simple men who had fought for their people.
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