That was a Confirmation of his Suspicions, final, utter vindication of beliefs that he's held since the start of this whole, ragged episode of destruction and chaos, pain and hardship and disgust and anger and complete, emotional destruction.

He takes off his hat and coat and kneels before the Altar, eyes closed, mind now suddenly clear and sharp, like a razor, but so much more lethal.

He snaps open his eyes and looks at the Altar. It's his Dreams, his ambition and his hopes, everything that he is and everything that he ever was, laid bear before him. The Ultimate Retrospective.

The man offers a silent prayer to it, a prayer to his dreams, his mouth whispering and moving slightly to expose time-dulled teeth. He stands, finally, picking up his coat and hat. With a final look back, a last deep stare into the pits and fire of his life, he starts to walk away from it, reluctant, but knowing, far inside himself, that this is the best path for him to take.

The wind around him whistles, chilling him to the same core of his being, though this one a far more physical one. Thankful for his coat, he strides through the short, shrub grassland, looking upward at the Dark, Black sky, and thinks to himself.

"It is a Mirror of my Soul. Even the Sky Mourns for Me. How pitiful I must seem, for such a thing to want to show the Sadness that it has for me!"