I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know where I am.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
My first memory is of standing here in this place, talking to the living ghosts that have gathered here.
"Once you had been the greatest of scholars and priests, tributes were paid to you by all nations. You think those days are past, you dream of the return of your lord and I tell you, he will not come. I am your lord now, forget what you have lost, and think only on what can be gained; follow me and I will return your glory. This world will be yours again."
These are the words I spoke, the first words I ever recall speaking. I did not know then where these words came from or even what they meant, they just appeared in my mind as I spoke. It was like I was watching myself in a dream, a spectator to my own actions. At various times since I think that I have known where, or more precisely who, those words were from but I have either lost those memories as well or they have been taken from me. I don’t know why this does not worry me. Maybe the cold has numbed my emotions into acceptance of what is, not yearning for what was. I do not know how long ago I spoke these words, as time seems to have no meaning. One day seems like the last, without end.
It is only now, as I sense the grip of the cold begin to weaken, that it is clear to me that the time of the Illians is here. It is time to gather all of the ghosts that haunt these wastes together in one spot, time to plan for our future in this world.
It is said that when the Illians awake, the world sleeps; and when the world sleeps, the Illians awake. This time as the world awakes from the cold, the Illians will not be sleeping.