Nobody knows really what life was like before the great war, suffice to say that it existed...which it didn't after. When the thirteen came to Argel, they tore up cities and continents, they boiled oceans with their gaze and poisoned the sky with their breath. It's a wonder anyone survived at all. Maybe they wouldn't have...maybe we wouldn't have if it weren't for the interlopers. They fell from the sky on a ball of ice and fire, sealing the thirteen away into the stars forever, the most powerful magic the world had ever seen. I wouldn't have believed it either, had I not been there, had I not fallen with them from the sky and bled my soul dry to seal away the chaos forever. As ugly as the world is these days, it's beautiful to see it still living, still thriving not despite the scars it bears but because of them. The machine of society runs on the fuel of chaos that the thirteen brought, and as much they complain about the clouds of black smoke it produces they seem to ignore the beauty it was first built for. That's why I don't despair, but rather rejoice that any of us had the chance to be here at all.