The end of a war brings a new era,

The human race born with a gift from Hera,

The tears that were shed dry up with the sun,

The Ten that fought reunite once more,

A burden they carry that now weighs a ton,

A problem that eats at their wounded core,

Together with the mighty Gods they meet,

To create the weapons that would destroy,

Weapons forged in a smiths' burning heat,

Weapons too dangerous to be one's toy,

The Seven Stones freed to watch and to wait,

The times foreseen become bitter taste,

One brother they lost, one sister they hate,

The final they hid in a last moment's haste.

(From the Chronicles of Tears,

The Tens' Last Doing

Zabriel, One of the Ten.)