Ether’s people were scared of death and of each other. They were fighting and killing and dying. And the war grew and grew and everyone joined in and fought and died until there was just one person left alive. One person, beside Ether. And the whole time, Ether could only watch as the world fell apart. And while he watched, he wrote down everything he saw on metal paper so that the stories would last long after he was gone. And by the end, Ether had written several books containing the sorrow and loss and destruction he had seen from his hideout on the mountain. And before Ether died, he set the books out in the open hoping that someday someone would find them.

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