When he spoke, none followed. In the eyes of his Republic he remained fanatical, zealous, mad. His words were reminiscent of the liberation callings of Ushra'Khan of the past. A simple matari miner, yet, uncle once called him a prophet - I believed, for I also saw his fear. A man commanding hundred hordes of mutilated vessels for a massacre of unscaled proportions. They blackened the sun, their numbers grew with each battle no matter victorious or defeated.

My brother fled. He left Matar worlds, preaching of a soon arrival of a power far greater than anything Eve have ever seen. They called him a fool, and a fool he was for hoping people would phantom a force greater then coalitions of the Null and mega-corporations of the empires. A rouge, yet a kin - I harbored him in shadow of the State. When I first saw him after all these years, the absence of a true Heiian within me became far too apparent - family took the front stage, and we stood alone for his madness.