In the grand, often nonsensical weavings of existence, there was a particular flavor of despair reserved for the optimist's silence.
It is one thing to be told by a pragmatist that the odds are long, or by a cynic that doom is inevitable.
Such warnings are expected, easily dismissed as the natural output of their respective philosophies.
But when the one who has always seen the silver lining, the one who has consistently found a path through impossibility, the one who has been the unwavering beacon of hope…when that being looks at the approaching storm and says, "Eeeh… I don't know about this one," that is when true terror takes root!
Imagine a young cultivator, brimming with talent and the righteous fury of youth, standing atop a mountain that pierces the heavens.
Below him, the world is a weaving of injustice, ruled by ancient clans and celestial edicts that strangle potential and reward mediocrity.
