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Old Walker woke up exactly where they had fallen asleep in the memory. Time didn't seem to have passed in the space between then and now, although the inscriptions were now complete and autumn leaves had blown into the hall. Bright sunlight glanced from plates of quartz, illuminating the whole tunnel. Nualles was still where they'd left her, though. Time was fluid.

When it was done sleeping in, the Sculptor looked up to see Nualles stroking the dense quills of its back, savouring the sensation and the faint sound it made. She was fast approaching adulthood, but nobody was ever too old to feel small beside Old Walker.

[i]Myuuuuu,[/i] said the Prophet.

"Okay," answered the acolyte.

With Nualles on their back, Old Walker wandered out into the day. Lacy fae-wings glimmered as they swooped around the two of them. 

In the Council House, the elders of Metera were engaged in lively debate with God. Elsewhere, simpler folk were tending fields whose produce would be administered under the laws of the Holy Exchange. Others said their morning prayers, whispering their dreams as an offering to God, clearing their thoughts that they may work joyfully and thus be reborn in a better world.

It was a peaceful place. It was a peaceful time. Old Walker felt handfuls of grain glance off their side and saw someone give a flower crown to Nualles, who smiled and fiddled with it in her hands.

Old Walker didn't think of where they were going. They didn't think of where they had come. No memories plagued them, and that was okay.

They did not think of the verse in the Tome of Morality, which they had last year inscribed, and ran thus:

[i][color=cornflowerblue]Trust least of all, then, your fellow mortals, be they among the infidels or simply infidels of heart, who reject the Future Hope; Who ignore the Holy Exchange; Who listen not to the Voice of the Painter; For such are the people who reject the humble God of Empathy, and so reject Empathy itself.

For Paradise is built upon a throne of Empathy, and God sits at its footstool. And to make war against Her is to make war against the throne that She attends, yet is powerless to guard.

So it falls upon the Chosen People to stand side by side and defend the Future Hope, and in the Mortal Hand is held the sword with which all the cruel people of the world shall be purged...[/color][/i]