Naturally do we now progress, through abyssal flames and gentle recourse. Past flaming holes, and gaping maws, and cries of joy and ecstasy. Moving from circle to circle, we now adhere to all laws that lead us to our humble home. To war cry some. To Peace cry others. Never knowing the tree that lay before them, was once a mighty titan. Of words, did he now come, and to hear him speak, was considered a blessing. A pagan, a philosopher, a man of words; did they call him. Barely able to lift his sword, and taste his enemies palate, yet able to speak clear of mind, and with sound tongue. Weak he arrives, yet his trumpet blows louder than most, and deepens the air with a calm mist, to hasten the cry of the weak, and the oppressed. A Great Injustice did he see, and to him they are called, by horns and fury, they beckon. Only by his air, and his breath are they given life, to bask in each others glory, with the fire of mankind.