At the same time the Third War between the Writers and the Lords of Mist began, Frey had only just started writing the opening lines of the Land of Survival.
Back then, he had completed no more than a handful of pages, while everything beyond them remained blank, leaving him endless room to create. It was like a vast white canvas upon which he could paint anything he desired.
Whenever his duties in the Aether World came to an end, Frey would hurry back into his creation. He often spent entire days wandering through the Land of Survival, filling it with countless words...
Words that came alive.
Yet he did not undertake those journeys alone.
An old friend accompanied him, remaining by his side more than anyone else ever had.
Agaroth was always there, waiting for Frey whenever he left and returned to the Aether World.
And as usual, the moment Frey entered the Land of Survival again, Agaroth was already waiting for him.
"Agaroth... you never cease to amaze me."
