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ll eyes are on the First Conscience as he approaches the terrace. The heralds do not clap, nor yell any affirmations of the one they call Father.

Their wraps simply bear the symbol of the one who now commands them with his very thoughts.

The day is upon us. Our time has come. Soon we will blacken the eye of the Waking Eye and those who believe her light shines for them. You are born of fine stock. You are born of me. My will guides you. Lay waste to those who oppose us. Do not fail me.