Before meeting death,
The scholar already composed his own epitaph —

“This person's name was seldom mentioned by others,
Incomplete, just like his fate.”

He would sweep his own grave at the beginning of every Month of Reaping,
Staring long and hard at his stained hands…

Hands that never seek the benediction of gods,
Accepting only the tricks and plots his brain presents.

“Keep your distance from that blasphemous one,
lest misfortune follows you like a shadow.”
People warned each other thus before his lectern.

In those rumors, the scholar's hubris looms foul and vile,
He dares to proclaim ascendancy over gods, and defy the Titan's will.

But the one shouldering such slander pays little heed.

His lonesome figure stands aloof,
For he always believed,
That gods are no greater than mortal beings such as he.