Upon the faint winds of The Void - beneath the indecipherable songs of the distant Voidwhales - soft words whisper beyond the keen ears of all but the most astute of High Priests - not of doom and sorrow - but of
hope anew.
"Could it be worse?", we ask, as we meditate upon the many paths the forests of fate could twist. The safe bet is that it could not, for while it could - surely the odds are in our favour: so much above us, so little below. Hope is the safer bet - it is the logical probability - but the winds of The Void follow no logic, know no rules - they speak - and we must listen: and have faith.
I ask you, fellow priests, to take faith upon the whispering words of The Void - as they have come to me. Not because it is logical or likely, but because the very Void wills our rise to power. Have faith, my kin - for while even I secretly fear that hope unrequited is the most dangerous weapon of all - I choose to hope.