“I can’t deny that.” Her thoughts naturally turn to the tales of the Saints and the Heroes, their memories indelibly living on through the centuries as stories every soul in Fódlan knew. She idly wonders what they must think of that, from whatever place in the afterlife they may have found. Dorothea can’t quite reconcile how she would feel, in their place. To be loved and remembered for eternity is a nice thought, but does it truly matter if she can’t be there to enjoy it?

“But tales often find themselves changing with time and with each retelling.” Her gaze drifts back to the darkness of the void surrounding them. In it, she can almost feel the fate of all things to break down and fade away. These stories were no different. “Could a story that has warped so much that it hardly reflects the truth of its subject any longer still hold that implication of immortality?”