How could ones such as my elders decay like they did? I once asked the same question, but no longer. No one told me the answer. I have simply felt it as I wait, bearing down on me, bit by bit.
Think, how much have you ever seen at once? Were you able to process it all, to take in every little detail? Now imagine doing that for two such images. Now a hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand. A million.
All that knowledge, all that information, flows into us. It's what let my elders build the System. It's what let me grant you your name, One Who Tries Again, and it's what lets me speak to you now.
Yet inevitably, our minds crumble beneath the weight of all that truth, and our souls? They turn to smoke.