|Def: (n) an identifying feature which might trigger a function or action.|
Twice, our world was stricken by the end. The plains and once wet fields are nothing but ashes, torn asunder by the was, the then, the past - two pasts - that laid their marks.
Our planet was fated to die twice over, and though there were many that shed their blood for this good earth when their time came for them, the Gaian race is far from extinction. We wonder how it is that our place in this known universe avoided destruction, of Meteor and Omega, but as all beings who are face to face with the ultimate question of reality, we come to understand that we know nothing. We've set our eyes on re-birth; these were not uncharted waters. We looked to the heavens for Alexander, for Eden, for law and religion, and we saw the pale drifts of Lifestream scattered across the stars. Our world as we know it is a war of the world's making. A war waged upon us, and itself, the galaxies and beyond willing a conquest by extermination of all that is good to us, and all that remains. Others have fought for us. We looked on to our saviors for help. Where once stood Shinra, our lord and protector, now stands bricks in broken asphalt. Where once stood Midgar, the empire, now stands Midgar, the ruins. Shinra, Avalanche, World Regenesis, Deepground. There's only so far we can go with self-conflict and single-manned goals.
The colonization of this planet alone won't help our cause. The clusters of our people still exist, the grounds of the past are crumbled, and one by one, we attempt to pick up the pieces, to an avail we hope still lives.
This isn't the end. At least, not yet. But can we learn, or will we ever learn?
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