*THIS DOCUMENT HAS BEEN CATALOGUED IN THE RECORDS OF THE IMPERIAL BUREAUCRACY UNDER ID: 23ddt3949-193-333f-ie3lsd44aml BY JUNIOR BUREAUCRAT SIMUT OF LASTVAULT.
*THIS DOCUMENT HAS BEEN FLAGGED AS RELEVANT TO THE ESCHATON LIBRARY BY SENIOR BUREAUCRAT TALMUS OF LASTVAULT. THIS DOCUMENT HAS BEEN FLAGGED AS RELEVANT TO THE CORPSE LIBRARY BY {REDACTED}. ACCESS IS HEREBY RESTRICTED PENDING REVIEW OF SPECIALISTS.*
My name is Wyr, the last living Sage of the Transient Gardens, He Who Sang of Dawn, victor over seven of the forty eight deaths, speaker to the stars and counselor to three warlords of Kasp, and today eternity burnt before my eyes. My divinity has abandoned me and my paradise has been profaned. There was a time when my word brought emperors to heel, when navies flinched at the mere clearing of my throat - but my voice has failed, and my eyes grow dark. I bequeath these words to you, people of Lakh, for I fear the doom I meet will soon be yours.
The War in the Garden began with a shudder through the cosmos, at the arrival of the Wyvern King's Interdict. All those in the garden felt the tremor in spacetime, but only a few had listened long enough to the currents of space to hear the whisper propagating through our system. My teacher, whose virtue was Resplendence, claimed to make out a single word - *Sink*. His claim was borne out; all of us felt the pull of the ground beneath our feet - ships that were to bring our most treasured writings out of the tyrant's reach struggled in vain to escape the ever deepening gravity well, and to our horror the Drone Fleet that was Hessua's Third Miracle fell into our Sun. The weapon that had been our guarantor of safety and sovereignty for a thousand years was broken before our enemies ever arrived.
{AUDIO OBSCURED}
{TEXT OBSCURED} the remaining ships danced across the sky. *The Titan's Smirk* held steady, the only constant point in a now unrecognizable sky, cutting down ships by the dozen as they attempted landings across my home. Our conqueror had become our last protector. *Vanity of Fog* had retreated, from the stuttering state of their phonon barrage, they were no longer capable of contesting this battle. It seemed as though the War in the Garden had ended; once the scavengers lost what was left of their courage, the *Smirk* would descend and my people would {TEXT OBSCURED}
{AUDIO OBSCURED} -reon unleashed their Thundercloud, a weapon we had once feared as the last extent of their power. Now, it was a wisp in the maw of {AUDIO OBSCURED}
It was irresponsible, to use so rare and precious a tool for such a selfish purpose. I should be recording secrets of the Art, embedding schematics in the sine waves of my voice. I should be, but I... well I suppose that I needed you, whoever you are, to hear my name.
I am {AUDIO OBSCURED}, and for three summers I lived in the Transient Gardens of the First Miracle. I was blessed, and I {AUDIO OBSCURED}. Remember me.