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IV. Bear the Weight of Dawn
4-1
The people likened him to the blazing sun,
Bringing to Amphoreus a glorious dawn.
And for his part he embraced their expectations,
Being willing to become the perfect vessel.
Like that god who shouldered the world,
The man never cried or frowned.
Yet he is not proud of his resolve.
For sometimes,
He even avoids funerals of the departed.
Only out of fear,
That he cannot cry for those in pain.
4-2
He once sought out emotions of sorrow,
And walked with the lowliest of people,
“Henceforth, your misfortune shall be my misfortune.”
Responsibly and diligently,
He protected all for the people.
Living in dilapidated cottages, sitting on aged stools,
Subsisting on nuts and fruit, beset by hunger and cold.
The people thanked him for his grace,
Like a hearth warming winter nights,
The man's presence dispelled the cold,
Leaving warmth with promises of morrow.
Whence does his warmth come from?
None ask.
The man gradually perceives his true nature,
But he dares not speak.
4-3
Unable to bear the turmoil in his heart,
The man set off on a journey once more—
“Then, I shall go save what I can.”[1]
He was a formidable warrior, invincible in battle,
And when it was necessary to sacrifice for fellows,
He could do so with ease,
Giving up everything, without a show.
Just as the ballad blown on the breeze says:
Losses are a constant on the Flame-Chase journey.
Indeed, sacrifices were not hard for him,
Yet his misgivings grew with every tomorrow…
Like a tear that cannot be shed.
Such a resolute willingness to let go,
Comes only from the fact that in decisions,
He is utterly unafraid to hurt himself.