There is no true beginning. There is no true end. Time bends, shifts, and folds upon itself, but it never stops.
Azal is not a perfect loop—because perfection is an illusion. It twists, it curves, it carries the weight of existence itself. It mirrors the endless motion of time, the cycles of power, the rise and fall of empires.
The one who wears Azal understands what others fear—eternity. They do not chase moments; they shape them. They do not fear the passage of time; they command it. While the world crumbles and rebuilds, their name remains.
Azal is not for those who fade. It is for those who leave their mark—forever.
