Prologue: Moment of Peace
The sun was setting, and another day had gone past, one more minute before the end of all things. By the beach stood a massive flying machine, normally rotating engines and soaring wings silent. It was a vanguard of lost hope, a guardian of nobility's demise.
A lone figure, clad in a leather jacket walked on top the massive craft, staring at the group of weary warriors on the earth below. They looked the same as he did; hopeless, waiting for death, waiting for the peace of nothingness.
The war was over, and they had lost. No desperate attempts, no epic battles, there was nothing they could do to alter their fate.
And they had lost so much more than an ordinary war.
He now stared at the blood red sky, thinking about all they've been through. All their experiences and sacrifices, all their happiness and pain, all their hopes and dreams, about to become forgotten. No, it won't be forgotten, he thought. It can't be. We've been through too much.
Out of his pocket he pulled out a small machina display. Activating it, he began to write the last entry into his journal, and entry that, he hoped, would somehow survive the coming darkness.
So here we are, he wrote, at what that Auron guy would probably call the "axis of destinies". We're caught in a war, a war between politicians, generals, philosophers and saints. And I'm one of the poor bastards stuck in the middle. Shut up and listen, 'cause this is my story.