Mila: Oh, Duma… Why can you not understand? All living things are deserving of happiness. We can build that paradise for them here in Valentia—a world free of misery!

Duma: Nonsense. A world without misery is not the same as a happy one. Misery shapes men throughout their lives. Hardship makes them strong. Smother them with blessings, and they will never learn what happiness is.

Mila: So you would temper them with misfortune instead? Mankind faces trials enough without us burdening them yet more. I wish to be their salvation—the hands that dispel their grief and pain. It is our duty as gods to save them.

Duma: Poor, foolish Mila… Your love would only make them soft and lead them to depravity and ruin. Men are weak. Our duty as gods is to make them strong. Our hands must be firm.

Mila: Duma, my dear brother… I’d hoped we could unite and make Valentia the utopia it was meant to be. But I see now that our argument will only continue in circles.

Duma: So it seems. I cannot even remember how long it has been, my sister. How long since we left our old world behind and came here to build anew. Regardless, it is clear the utopia you desire is not the same as mine. We must part ways. Let me rule the north, and you shall have the south. Let us vow to each seek our own ideals, and never trample upon the other’s. We shall let time judge which of us has done right by mankind. Do we have an accord?

Mila: I tire of our fighting, my brother. An accord it shall be. Farewell, Duma. May your people find as much happiness as mine.