The prophecy of the old monks.
Where did all their books and spells remain?
I’m dying. I’m looking for my power, but I can’t find anything.
I’ve longed for. Neither love, not desire, only the reflection of my power.
Come back, my idea, come back my magic.
It’s last time you saw the star-light.
Come back my idea, come back my magic,
Come back my child to my arms. The long journey is waiting for us.