So it comes to this, does it?

All of my words, dismissed. All of my knowledge, cast aside. A collaborator digging in her heels, refusing to do what's necessary, and a miserable, pathetic horde of naysayers marshaling outside the castle. Naturally, they despise the one who does what must be done, who makes sure that the show will go on. What was that ancient saying? You either die a hero, or you live long enough...

It doesn't matter. So many Remnants coming together, Remnants left practically undefended... The End is near at hand. The climactic moment is barreling ever closer. How fortunate that I know what it's like to have to improvise to meet that deadliest of deadlines...

My Dragon approaches.

No progress with your father, I take it? You hold back still?

And if he does not? You rage at me, claiming that I'm not able to do my job, and yet it is you who has failed to complete your task. When I first leant my power to you, you spoke with ambition of devouring the Heart of the Forest, but now your claws hesitate, and you make constant, quavering excuses.

You leave us open to attack! Do you not recall my warning? The tattered threads that weave together where your Remnants gather... the shattered snarls that tangle around each new path between them... again and again, history repeats itself. All roads lead to ruin. You've felt it, with my borrowed power. I know you have.