Eliksni! Kridis, the Priestess, cries out to you across the abyss! As we speak, the once-Shipstealer brings the promise of our people to pass. Soon we will rise to true prominence, united under one banner and one Kell—with no gods but ourselves.
For who withstood the Whirlwind? Who pieced together Ketches and armories out of ruins and scraps? Who roamed the vast expanses for generations, subsisting on drips of Ether and facing endless battle? Who survived?!
We did! Not the so-called Great Machine nor the idols we crafted in its image. The Eliksni survived!
So why do we pine still for a light that shines not on us? Why do we kneel to the Servitors that we created?
Because we are afraid. Because—for all that we've suffered, for how long we've traveled—we clung tight to the belief that we were meant for a higher existence, meant to evolve beyond our current forms. If only the Whirlwind hadn't cut off our people from godliness too soon.
This, I believed as well. I mourned the death of our collective potential in our rituals and rites. Felt the acid-burn of despair in my body as I received succor from our Prime Servitor. Dreamt of the day I turned my weeping eyes up to the sky and found it empty of salvation.
I was blind.
But Eramis removed the Light from my eyes, and now I see.
So I entreat you, children of Riis. Come receive clarity for yourselves! Witness the greatness of the House Salvation and the Kell who leads it. Rejoice, for she who brought our Servitors low where they belong will do the same to the Great Machine!
The light holds nothing for us now. Long we have traveled in darkness. Now is our time to embrace it!
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