You had thought it was morbid, at first. The graves.
The way they jutted out from the brittle shinning rock of your land, like so many bony fingers groping for the hollow sky, had unnerved you. And the mausoleums had seemed more foreboding than comforting in their dust and in their silence.

You miss them now, in a small way. Maybe its your blindness that makes it stand out so sharply in your mind, the way the smooth broken edges of the obsidian had glimmered in the twilight. And the way the dust motes had looked in the multicolored sunlight that streamed in through the stained-glass windows of the mausoleums.

It seems so easy now, to appreciate the small things. When the whole world is burning and you are blind, the howls of death ringing in your ears.
You hear them always, the cries of your dead friends across all the scattered timelines. But it will not go to waste. And as a knight you will watch over your friends who are alive now.

You may not be able to escape doom.
But that doesn’t mean that you cant use it.