Epilogue.

Months have passed; construction, repairs, and memorials filled the remains of what was once a lively city.

Now drenched in rubble, sorrow, and a sense of melancholy for the once better days.

Sitting on the ground in the middle of a graveyard was a young man with grey hair; he held a bottle of sake, occasionally leaning its tip so as to spill on the graveyard above him.

In his hand lay a letter signed in fancy, red ink.

“Thanks for having me again, Father.”

“How long has it been?”

"I lost track of time."

"Heh. There is something I realized recently."

"Which is?" 

He spilled the entire bottle. "Faith is a system of essence and purpose." His eyes flickered.

"The essence of a scorpion is to sting."

"What the hell is a scorpion?"

He paused briefly. "I would love to know myself." The segmented, tail-like sigils tattooed on his neck suddenly glowed with faint, red light.