If there exists such a realm, a sanctified dominion beyond sorrow, be it called Heaven, Elysium, Utopia, or the Place of Good, whether rooted in this weary Earth or suspended beyond the firmament in realms unseen, then may it open its gates to us.

May it receive the meek, the trampled, the overlooked, the burdened ones who bore the weight of a world built against them. Let it be a refuge for those long cast beneath the heel, who bled in silence while others dined in the halls of privilege.

If there is justice beyond the veil of time, let it be known that those who toiled, those enslaved, those scorned by history gave the most—of their labor, their bodies, their dignity—to sustain the illusion of peace for others. They are the hidden pillars upon which the false heavens of empire were raised.

May the Divine, or the Spirit of Equity, or the silent conscience of the cosmos itself, grant them inheritance of this good and final place. Let not the architects of suffering inherit joy unaccompanied by those who bore their cost.

Let peace, true peace, be theirs, now and forever.

A Benediction from the Threshold: To Those Who May Yet Cross

And if I may not be permitted to join you— if the gates of that blessed realm remain closed to my weary soul— then let me offer this, my final invocation:

May your feast be abundant, your table crowned with the fruit of untroubled days and unburdened labors. May joy, unblemished by guilt, dwell among you. May the gods—those watchful keepers of cosmic balance— look upon you with a grace I was never allowed to know.

And more than this, I hope— with all the fire that still flickers in my fading breath— that you may find what we sought in the dark:

Apotheosis—that sacred becoming, where the mortal ascends not into tyranny of power, but into the harmony of the self with the cosmos, a divine consonance.

Eudaimonia—that ancient Hellenic flame, the flourishing of the soul, not in pleasure nor in ease, but in the fulfillment of purpose and the cultivation of virtue, in living in accordance with one’s true nature and the eternal order.

And above all, Philosophia—the love of wisdom, the yearning that drove me, and Mata, and the other Vaarla Ona through agony and awe alike, to the precipice of the Absolute.

If I am not to enter, then let those who remain inherit this triune light. Let it shine through your lives, and through you, let it touch even the ones like me— those who labored in shadow, so that others might dine in the sun.