User blog comment:BTR180/Encuesta/@comment-30014014-20190526192226/@comment-30014014-20190527162627

"This walk...is no design of mine...but that of another...who sought the one who once governed mankind..." The armored man raises his hand forward. The color of orange glimmering in his eyes, on his armor evolves to that of a silver light.

A response to the presence he now felt in his hand. The miniature star hoverin in his hand pulses once, its echo stretched outside of the realm, to then return to the star. Its orange tempest now glimmers in silver llight, just as the carrier is.

It shapes from the star to a sigil. A singular sigil depiciting an olive branch. Ethereal and physical. Its branch, coated in a radiant and humble silver. Metal and light. The branches, swirl and dance in light an shadow. No enemies of each other, but partners to a greater power.

A voice seeps form the bramble of armistice. A gentle voice, the which only a divine being could utter so flawlessly. The voice of a goddess ''|How eons have passed through this hourglass|. ''

''|How the realm which we watched have changed in my eyes|. ''

|A change, leading to similarities.| 

|Similarities, ushering to change.| 

|I see how changed you are.| 

|And how the same you remained.|

|Have we once met?|

''|Through the planes of time, a different you, yet a same you|. ''

|I bestow my welcome to one I have lost in sight in eons.|