One may come into the world, living and breathing, but you are not born through that process. You are not created in that natural act, but in a defiance against fate do you act upon something and be made anew. The first was done through the act of losing faith in those Beings with Faces, called Gods, in watching their parents be taken by blind worship of them. Those hungering things filled with power that in that moment he railed against with all the wrath and rage of a zealot justified, their Lightborn Face, Palias. The second was taken more than made, the supports made by faith and devotion stripped away to leave a shell, a vessel filled with longing and frustration. Only then when that insightful tempest passed did they cling to what was once holy for power and seek power further in it's opposition, The King of Dogs with their choice of scraps and filth, they are the Lordborn Face, Kaneis. What is left? What is left after one has lost everything in their life? Life itself, of course. That third birth is given in the wake of grief and defeat, Life blood emptying from their veins as indignation sends them to the depths of a common river liken unto the Dog they were. In the absence of a pulse their path to the End is blocked, filled with flashes of what's described as Penance and Power in equal measure for their past misdeeds as Lightborn and their forgiveness as Lordborn. A wave of emotion and the culmination of a thousand thousand lives pushing, molding that singular spirit back to a Blacksteel shell. In that water they breathe, in those depths a body once their own resides in the one they now possess, and they crawl out of that motionless depth for the air, for the land above where life moves in all oppositions to what they are. Fe'Roris, Thrice Born, Partaker of Faith and Power, Eternal Bound and Oathed. Their fire will never burn out, for their fuel is the old selves long dead, and their Will is their heat and it burns too bright for that final rest to embrace it. Thus is power, thus is accursed.
