The machines, brief as their age was, unsettled more than the arcane fabric. Their hum lingers in the stone, yet our toll remains the same. Aberrations press, lines fall, and no law or sacrifice has shifted the measure. The heroes came and went on their own accord, raising hubris as their banner. I do not deny the weight of a decision made outside due quorum, nor the necessity of bearing its lawful cost. But as the lists of the fallen lengthen, I fear the walls may not endure the strain. Rumor says they became what they once wished most to destroy. Their last choice seemed so calculated, so correct, that I could not have done better myself. Yet I wonder, have they always hesitated so much?