Name: The founder of peace.
Writen at: 4/5/26

As thou sits alone,
waiting for something magnificent—
something as beautiful as the raven the yata brought,
the raven it followed,
the same raven dwelling within.

(How foolish, to follow something so blind as thee.)

Yet the yata—
not foolish, but the bravest of the brave.

For when the raven strikes,
piercing belief and leaving it in ruins,
the yata remains untouched,
yet indifferent than soul.

It rises, soaring with the raven
through the great black, ominous sky.

As the raven pierces the hollow souls,
the yata fills them
with regret and sorrow.

Not as evil—
but as the founder of peace.

For when souls are filled with despair,
they see, at last—
at last
how broken they have become,
how deep the corruption is.

And only then
shall they begin to mend themselves—
to mend themselves as thee.

At last, the vow—
the vow that bound the yata within—
is broken,
broken by the raven.

To free—
to free thee from despair,
for despair, once necessary,
is now but suffering.

Indeed.

(At last, thou art thee—thou art whole,
and thou art free.)