All men dreamt, but not with equal measure. All men dreamt, but not all dared to dream. There were those who settled their minds and let their imaginations stray from their tightly bound prisons only once the sun had set and the moon had risen.

Ronan pitied them. There was an art to dreaming while the sun blazed. There was a magic to being able to let the imagination run while one's eyes were firmly open. It was as he watched the restless city, dawn approaching on a steady horse, that his own ingenuity ran free. He saw flashes of the future he could have, tasted the life he felt...