Near sunset's end, beneath a sky rinsed in dying gold, a #painter$wanderer# stands before the gates of hang'an…
Near sunset's end, beneath a sky rinsed in dying gold, a #painter$wanderer# stands before the gates of hang'an$Moonlit#. Shadows lie behind, some trapped in the desert, some buried beneath snow, some fallen to arrows, some wailing in flames. A hand rests against cold bronze, and truth settles without mercy. hang'an$The home# is no longer there. Only ash remains.
Behind lies dream and void. Ahead... lies the same. The gate opens. Step forward. hang'an$The home# has burned away, yet from its ruin rises a harder light. Moonlight forged from embers, steady beneath resolute feet. #$$T(30) wouldn't get trapped by the past. No more chains. No more walls. Pain becomes passage, and the blade that cuts the next path open.#