As the sun made its presence known behind the gray clouds, a single haggard traveler could be seen departing the city of Akolta by way of the eastern road, heading south toward the scorching deserts. It was the same path he had wandered when he left the city for the first time, long ago, but even if there was some poetry to that, the man did not reflect upon it for long. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    He was no less poor than he had been when he entered, his clothes no less torn and his skin no less filthy, but he was content. He did not know yet the effects his actions would have, or what the world would become in his absence.


    Maybe he had made a difference, and maybe he hadn’t.


    And that would have to be enough.