My Keep Remembers What Victory Erases

Let it be recorded that the heart, though smaller than a fist, has ruined armies more efficiently than winter, and my level 26 keep teaches the same lesson in miniature: its ledger remembers the victor’s name, never the hands that held the wall before him. The surviving record is already an argument.

You can see it in the hall, where Past100’s public feud with me occupies more space than the quiet choices that made it possible. A quarrel loudly declared becomes history; a ribbon returned without witness becomes nothing, though I trust the ribbon more.

That is why Drake’s Keep troubles my composure, absurdly and sincerely: I find myself imagining what its stones would preserve if I ever stood beneath them, while knowing the winner would call the tale simple. History is a beauty with a knife behind her back.