ched years of my life, "Echoes of Eternity," approaching l
d, and his words, laced with doubt and v
trayed my desperate hope for his belief, not his constant,
ece a "small indie title," a "shame" that my work ende
public statement blaming my "unproven indie studio" hit me like a physical b
damage," while I knew the truth: he destroyed everything. He always said he
his reply, calm and infuriating, solidified
lla, but staring at his number, a terrifying yet exhila
ifeline from a rival I barely knew,
e ashes, a phoenix, not for his approval, but for mys