There were those that found the seed, but they knew not what to do with it. The spirit of unearthliness, the spirit of deceit, snatched it away. Was it because he was not fit to don the seed of immortality? Or was he afraid that what would root (if it could root) would pull the very life from his vein? What was gained was lost equally as fast; much to their immediate pleasure; much to their infinite demise.

          Oh what joy some found in that seed, that eternal ambience. They held it tight, so tight in fact that it would root within their veins and within their hearts. The disappointment came when they failed to nurture the seed. It needs water; it needs words to make it grow. As the sun arose, high in the sky of their meek, no bleak existence, the persecution shone brightly on them. They were saddened and returned to their ways not knowing what could have been, what may have become of their now sun-scorched seedling. I suppose for them it was just easier that way.

          Fides heard some who were content in their ways. Oh, they received the seed willingly. But the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choked it, making it unfruitful. It was too much to nurture the source of your shame. I guess they did not realize what they had.

          Fides found peace in the few. There were few that he could take pride in until Mundos was consumed and Fides could return home. Many were broken, consumed by existence and longing for understanding. They had ears to hear and hear they did. For them, the seed would produce a hundred times what was given them. Truly the dove descended on them.