May I be the only man to ever live through the events of the past week.

This is the first time I have been able to move my pen long enough to write. It still hurts. Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to think about what I lost.

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We saw the rifts from the Plane of Fire opening nearby, and knew that it meant an invasion was coming. I lead the people in prayer to the Vigil, and then spurred my horse to run me to the Guardian outpost nearby.

I pleaded with the commander to send men and women our way. “We must stay here,” he said, “if we were to come help you, we might lose this position.”

“But what do we do?” I demanded.

He looked directly into my eyes and said, “Pray to the Vigil.”

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I lashed my horse bloody, so desperate was I to reach the village. Along the way, I did what the commander told me. I prayed. I used every word I knew to call the Vigil to our side.

But I was too late. By the time I reached the village, it was in flames. My family was naught but cinders that fell to pieces at my touch.

I was out of my head with grief, and I threw myself against the remaining invaders.

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I was no match for them, and I was burned savagely, devils laughing as they tormented me with their flames. I believed I was done. I was ready to be done.

And then they cleared. As I felt my life slipping away, I believed I saw the face of an angel.

But it wasn’t an angel. I would find out later it was Asha Catari, beating off the devils and dragging me from the ruins of my village.

I would wake up later in the home of the Defiants, and learn that it was Defiants who saved me from death, and their machines that restored my life.

That day, my course in life altered. That day, I changed sides in this war.