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.