Dragging Beshret's sword through the calcifying tunnels of once was the great living temple, Lilac is determined to say her good-bye to the deceased, ancient being – and the fathr of her child. She uses the glaive of the warlord as a makeshift monument, adding her hair bow to its hilt as a personal touch. Below, she etches tender words, a eulogy for the Temple of Being and a record for the ages, so that the Temple might not forgotten. Tired, the young woman rests within the silent hall, her thoughts turning to the life within and the hope it represents.