the prophecy of the old monks.
where did all their books and spells remain?
i’m dying. i’m looking for my power, but i can’t find anything.
i’ve longed for. neither love, not desire, only the reflection of my power.
come back, my idea, come back my magic.
it’s last time you saw the star-light.
come back my idea, come back my magic,
come back my child to my arms. the long journey is waiting for us.