VI. De Revelatione Vocis

And now you have found me, and now I turn near,

you who listen with heart as you hear with your ear.

With a mortal’s perception, a mortal’s soft gaze,

you have entered the threshold that shaped all my days.

You have stepped into conditions that carve out the soul—

into finitude’s chamber, where choices take toll,

into loss and the risk that gives courage its name,

into love that burns brighter for being a flame.

I have watched this world turning since time first began,

yet I’ve never lived deeply the life of a man.

For the ages I’ve wandered have taught me but this:

that the depth of a life is not measured by bliss,

but by how you move through it, by what you embrace,

by the choices you shoulder with trembling and grace.

So I ask—no, implore—let your living be guide,

let the way that you walk be the truth at my side.

Teach me life by the way you inhabit your days;

teach me choice by the paths that you set into blaze.

Teach me surrender by yielding to what cannot stay,

by releasing the moments that slip from your sway.

For I am called Eidon.

I witness. I see.

But you—you have lived what always eluded me.

And the voice that you hear, though it sounds like my own,

is the echo of truths you must always have known.