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Instinct.

Instinct.

All animals thrive on instinct.

And perhaps the most curiously instinctual creature of all is the lemming.

A small rodent that chooses to remain active year-round with no hibernation, and always following its primal urge to migrate.

When the population becomes too dense for a given area, something deep inside them to find a new home…by whatever means necessary.

There are countless stories that suggest they would fall off a cliff if it meant getting to their intended destination.

Such stories hold no basis in reality, but the truth is stranger—and scarier—than fiction.

If that urge drives a lemming to swim across a body of water, it will.

Whether it’s a river, a lake, or an ocean.

The poor little thing doesn’t know any better.

It only reacts as the instinct allows.

Its foolishness is the lemming’s downfall.

And for centuries, mankind has repeated this pattern.

People will do whatever they’re driven to, even if it’s horrible acts of violence.

Their instinct will send them crossing a proverbial river to achieve their goals.

And they’ll point to that urge as a scapegoat.

“It’s in my DNA.”

“The devil made me do it.”

“So it is written, so shall it come to pass.”

But what happens when their force of habit sends them into the deepest, darkest part of the ocean?

They’ll be too busy drowning to pass the blame.

They reach out, hoping the thing that sent them out there will rescue them.

And they’ll only sink deeper.

This holy war was never meant to be yours, Sanctus and Cael.

You were recruited to this cause by Renault and the teachings of Sir Vant.

And somehow, the same instinct that drives them has taken the helm of your minds.

Your journeys have veered into alignment with theirs.

That journey has brought you to the middle of the ocean…and the fuel’s about to run out.

You’re stranded here, no destination in sight.

No one to help you.

Floating aimlessly in the sea.

Right where ol’ Simon wants you.

Because I know what’s coming next, gentlemen of the faith.

It’s the same pattern as the lemming, repeated for the billionth time in existence.

You’ll cry out to your god, or at least to the men claiming to serve him.

Reaching out for your supposed brethren in Renault and Sir Vant to rescue you from your plight.

But they won’t come.

Your cries for help will be met with silence.

At least until the winds pick up.

Until the waters get a bit choppy.

Because being stuck in the ocean might not kill you…but the oncoming storm will.

The force of nature that drove you to this destination will give in to the force of nature that will destroy you.

And I for one will enjoy watching you suffer from your own foolishness.

You chose this path when you chose to follow another man’s instinct.

That urge is the catalyst for your downfall.

Which makes you no better than a lemming.