This is the prelude to a sad story. A story of loneliness and tyranny. A story put to words as to never be forgotten. When the sands of time cover the eyes of those who behold it, these words may act as a guide a hand to hold.

Far in the south, by a sea of warm waters, there lies a forest so vast it extends far beyond the horizon. Deep in its heart stands an Oak black as coal, old as time once the home of a wise king, now a relic of a lost past.

One hot summer morning, flames took over. They danced on its halls and feasted on its treasures... And when the Owl came back from a long night of hunting, he found no one to love and no heir to his throne.

He cried for a thousand days and a thousand nights. Slowly, in the depths of the Black Mountain, he was poisoned by old stories of the moon and stars. He blamed the Light for his pain as one-by-one sanity left all the rooms of his mind.

He swore to one day free his people from the tyranny of Light and promised he would bring back the peace of a never-ending night.

And it is with all that being said this story is not written out of despair, but out of hope. For if you are to ever read these pages, it means we won. As there is no way to read them without the Light...