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Oh, I almost forgot. In case that anyone besides big-headed Near or the deluded murderer is reading these notes, then I shall at least perform the basic courtesy of introducing myself, here at the end of the prologue, I am your narrator, your navigator, your storyteller. For anyone else but those two, my identity may be of no interest to you, but I am the world's runner-up, the best dresser that died like a dog, Mihael Keehl. I once called myself Mello and was addressed by that name, but that was a long time ago.
There is no heaven or hell. No matter what you do while you're alive, everybody goes to the same place once you die. Death is Equal.
God, why... Are you so unfair and extremely cruel? Why do you separate those who can fly... And those who cannot and bring them into existence? Why, in this one world... You made the effort to divide them into two and bring them together?
Saying humans can't be trusted, please never use such words again!
If you've decided that you can't do it even before you act, you have already made it into something impossible.
This is exactly why I detest adults! You always have such a parochial approach, always trying to force the rules of your petty world onto others!
It takes more courage to speak the truth than it does to wield a sword.
Manipulating the pieces according to your strategy... That is what defines a King.
Sure, it might be warm and comfortable in there... not only safe and sound, but I get all the meals too! But I'd rather be out than be trapped inside this bird cage of yours.
No matter what kind of 'strength' you possess. There are places you can never reach no matter how hard you try. The farther it is... The higher it is...
If we only focus on making the best moves, we will never get the better of our opponent. When necessary, we must be willing to take big risks, and be prepared to lose everything. Unless we change how we fight, we cannot win.
Aging is quite similar to death. Some people stand up to aging and death as if it were nothing. They can do it not because they're braver than others, but simply because they lack imagination. Only once people deny that which they love, do they become able to create it anew. Perhaps, the book I write, too, will die one day just like my body will. However, people have to accept that death is unavoidable. They will probably be gone in ten years. Their books will no longer exist in a hundred years. People accept this. Eternity is promised neither to humans nor to books. We live because we were born. If the system possesses the power of life and death over you... you're no longer a human. You're livestock. No matter how hard a rancher tries to pretend otherwise, they never recognize their livestock as friends. It's a mystery to me... How is it that these people, treated as livestock in this boring society, have not tried at all to destroy it? Nothing in this world is eternal. The only thing that truly exists is the splendor of the souls that atone for their sins.
You cannot understand that which you do not know, and that misunderstanding breeds hatred.
You hide a tree by putting it in a forest; you hide a person among other people!
"To enjoy what one loves to do". Those words come easily from the mouth. But it's another thing to help them grow.
Even if we know each other, understanding each other is another matter.
They say you never know when a bullet you fired in battle will find its way back to you.
That's not exactly right. If you had to sacrifice many things to protect one, you're more likely to give up and throw it away. Including relationships you have in your hand now.
Ah... Everything is such a bother. Even living. If you don't want to be taken from, stop taking.