He painted the room of his Sanctum black. It gave it a somber feeling, perhaps reverent, but certainly gave the space a sleek modern feel. Truce gave it a spartan decoration. A dark chesterfield sofa, his small occult library adorning a darkwood shelf. A lamp to read by. The minimalism is to avoid distraction and let his senses focus. The small apartment did not prevent the distant noises of the surrounding neighborhood, and neighbors, to reach his ears however. So he has a small mp3 player and speaker in the room as well to provide some background noise.

He lays down on the sofa and lets his mind clear itself from distractions. A mind such as his has plenty. Work, the Mental Health Clinic, the many who suffer there, their emotions pouring out to him in distress. The words of his Mentor, Seele, warning him of the dangers of the world, the Quiescence, the Lie, and the agents that perpetuate it. Burdens upon burdens that weigh him down. He attempts to let it all go, let his concerns and worries disperse like dozens of candles being blown out by a chill wind, until there is one.

"One day I will die."

He lets the words hang in the air, spoken aloud to affirm its meaning. Having studied the Death Arcanum he knows this to be an infallible truth. Many struggle against this fact, some ignore it, denying its existence. Some give into despair, seeking it out before their time. Few rarely accept it, come face to face with it daily, and because of that many linger after their fated end.

Truce understands the mixture of all those perceptions. He's seen its allure, seen its terror, and has denied it before in his mind. It is a constant struggle to push past all those emotions, past individual ego and accept that he shares this fate with every living being. But rather than become one of those beings that leave behind a specter, Truce wishes to pass on without clinging to the world and dragging it down with him.

And yet...

By his attempts to resolve the suffering of Sleepers and specters, he finds himself clinging more tightly to the world, to Chelsea. He feels that binding like a rope around his chest. What would become of her without his aid? What would become of so many others? When his light is snuffed out that would mean one less Awakened soul fighting to preserve the Supernal presence in the Fallen World.

It is difficult to let go. And yet he must try.