My Dearest,
It is with trembling hand and wandering thought that I take to parchment, for though the cycles of Solunus pass like the slow toll of some cosmic clock, my heart remains fixed upon you. I find you everywhere, though you are nowhere near. In the smoke that rises from the Hearth Tavern’s fire, I see your silhouette dancing between flame and shadow. In the endless deserts beyond Glumea, every grain of sand reminds me of the days I spent tracing the curve of your hand, each fragment of earth a token of a world we might have shared.
And yet, I doubt. For though I have faced the Wolves, bartered with the Guild, and spoken even with those who whisper of Rogue Reapers, I quail at the thought of facing my own frailty. A man may carry the Atum Shield and still tremble; he may speak with the wisdom of Afum and yet falter before a single memory of the one he loved.
I see you, still, in the Explorers who set forth from Friar to test themselves against the Reaper Lance Altar. Their courage echoes yours. When they carry herb, water, bone, and wood as proofs of their oaths, I recall your voice, steady and bright, urging me to remain bound to honor even as my heart strains toward you.
Though I am counted capable by many, I confess myself unequal to this longing. It is not the Reapers that undo me, nor the oathbound Wolves, - it is absence. Yours.
Should this letter reach you across the cycles, know that each step I take, whether in card or coin, is but a bid to find you again. And if not in this age, then mayhap the next. For Solunus turns, ever cursed, yet ever renewed - and perhaps within its cycles lies one where you and I may walk together once more.
Yours, in all doubt and devotion,
-A Gentleman Lost Upon the Road