[I see a million faces pass]

The willowy woman with the ashen hair and grey robes was not altogether a very loud or prominent figure as she toured Stromos or the academy grounds, and did not ask nor announce respect. She had a quiet solemnity that spoke of someone who had passed beyond harrowing and haunting and into peace, and her face bore the elven quality of age — it was hard to tell if she was young or old, which meant that she was fairly old indeed. A rare sight.

Maibhe knew that Stromos would change in the hundred years of her absence, but she could hardly have guessed. It was crowded now, and messy. People moved, constantly and constantly, so quickly — it appeared to her that they did not know how to rest. That they could not afford to.

It was good to see that people had adapted, nonetheless. If nothing else it was exciting to see, even the foolish children. She was certain that if she informed them or their parents that they lived at the epicenter of so many great and horrible threads of tension, that their lives could burn up at a moment’s notice, they would say, yes, we’re very well aware.

A hundred years had passed, and the people who lived on this husk, their dead god, were still the daring sort. That was good. Her time in the In-Between had taught her the shapes of craven, withered souls who would gnash their teeth and pull their hair at knowing their end, and she saw very few of them here. Some things, it gratified her to know, did not change.

The guide who had been ferrying her about the city was polite, but into the night she did truly grow weary — weary in a way that was deeper than bone — and retired to the quiet space of a private room. The city lights that filtered in from the Dvarata, hazy and multicolored, painted the room like a noctilucent feyrie twilight through the windows. The curtains were thankfully heavy.

She sat, and wrote.

I am pleased to report the completion of my pact with the thanatological entity called the Lighter of the Ways, and the security of my teammates’ success a hundred years ago. A hundred years have passed; I have become a stranger, surely, but then it is only a joy to meet people again.

In my long vigil I have been changed, and diminished. Alas I am no longer the bard I once was, though I have gained different understandings from my time in the Beyond. I will inform the relevant parties that the ailment that seems to take me periodically is not a curse that can be cleansed; naturally, Death does not bargain fairly. I have accepted it. When it pains me, it shall pass.

I would like to be apprised of my teammates’ whereabouts, alive or passed. I would also like the relevant authorities in Thanatopsia to be informed that I am not to be questioned on the matter of secretive thanatological entities or dimensions.

I intend to return to active duty, as my condition permits. If I am to teach, as well, perhaps I should observe the classes for a time in order to adjust. I am certain to be old-fashioned and poorly-informed about a great many things.

With hope,

Maibhe Ohaeras