Luocha has always held a contempt for the divine, how people would flock to said beings like sheep and heed every word they spoke as if it were a blessing unto the world. As if all it took for something to be deemed as law was for a creature considered as higher to mumble it into existence. And thus, laws without thought were put into place, laws without reason, justification, or meaning.
Oh, how he loathed it so.
Such things could only lead to injustice, could only lead to chaos when order was the intent. Could only lead to heartache and unyielding prejudice to run rampant in worlds where love was supposed to be above all else.
He saw it on his own homeworld, after all.
He saw it in how his own family could only look at him in disdain for being born ill; a sign of being unfavored by their lord. He saw it in the eyes of his peers, who mocked him for being weak despite being of high birth; noble, blessed blood running through his veins. He saw it in the avoidant eyes of people passing on the street, where the damned suffered and no one bothered to lift a finger to help because they were considered unsightly and wrong.
What kind of lord would deem this just?
A lord he refused to follow.
He watched as his nation tore itself apart, even his own family as they scrabbled to the top of a dying world. Prayers being lost to the wind as figureheads threw curses at the so-called deities they had worshiped so devoutly prior.
"How could they let this happen? How could they let this be?" they cried, shaking their fists at the wind, as if this weren't an inevitability of their own hubris. As if their inaction and gluttony hadn't been the source of their world falling apart.
Even then, the fools continue to blame their higher being for refusing to save them from a grave they had sown themselves. Rejecting their own responsibility in such a downfall.
Luocha could only watch impassively as his home razed itself to the ground.
If everything were to end, then there shall be at least one witness.
So now, he stands, alone. The clothes on his back a reminder of the path he must take.
Some might call him arrogant, egotistical at heart.
He calls himself practical; willing to use even the Aeons themself to reach his promised goal. They would do the same if they deemed it necessary, after all. Why shouldn't he the right as well?
But no one could ever call him complacent, blindly following in the empty words of the divine.
He will carve his own track, with his own will.
