In the end were arrogant in our victory, content to merely subdue our enemy rather than vanquish him.
From the ruin of that victory, we began to renew. We spread ourselves far and wide, far enough apart that any lessons we should have learned fell on stony ground, there to rot. Yet even that loss served our ends, as that compost fed the new society we grew. For we did grow. Rising again, reborn (or so we thought), even as we re-learned the old paths and, in our ignorance, called them new.
We entered a golden age, the sun itself lighting us in luminary glow. We idolised ourselves, our achievements; worshipped our self-recognised perfection. But eventually, even we noticed the dark signs of infection. The inevitable decay at the edge of things. Time. Entropy. We suffered the terror of our End once more.
We were lost then.
Reality lost its lustre and we retreated into dreams and light shows. Fantasy became all we wanted to know and even that was not enough as our imaginations failed us and we resorted to the familiar, the safe. Now unwilling to face reality, we failed to see the return of our former enemy.
Beyond the cracked and crumbling wall of civilisation, the Green had found us and marshalled its forces. In places it withdrew, the better to concentrate its efforts elsewhere and our fields began to die, harvests turning to dust. Orchards produced only bitter fruit. The lush, verdant green of the world began to burn with flickering flames of red and gold that spread from tree to tree to vine to flower. This season of fire burned until only ashes remained on the branches, withered stalks filled the fields.
It was only in those last days that we faced the truth, our ignorance no longer the shield we had gladly hidden behind for so long. For too long.
And now it was too late as Lord Winter found us and brought with him the hate of a whole world. Our words of regret were nothing to him, as his vaporous servants froze our very breath as we spoke. His henchman, Frost, took to mocking our dead, taking their final words and etching the resulting obscenities on every surface for us to suffer the sight of.
Now, we few that remain live in darkness that grows colder by the day, confined to whatever meagre shelter we could find in the first days of Winter’s rule. We live now only to regret past mistakes, our arrogance, and hope that before this vengeful chill turns to that of the grave itself, the Lord will relent and forgive us. Though we have committed too many sins to forgive, perhaps.
We can only hope.