Precious things like friendship or love, for some men these are the most precious, but I believe beneath them there is something even more precious than these. They are driven to pursue it, and they pursue it solely for their own sake, no other. One man’s dream can hold dominion over the entire world, for one who dedicates his life to the forging of a single sword. While many can pursue their dreams in solitude, other dreams are like great storms blowing hundreds even thousands of dreams apart in their wake. Dreams breathe life into men, and can cage them in suffering. Men live and die by their dreams, but long after they’ve been abandoned, they still smolder deep in men’s hearts. Some see nothing more than life and death. They are dead. For they have no dreams.

They are my able soldiers it's true, they are dedicated comrades who sacrifice themselves for my dream so that it might be real. But that does not make them friends. In my mind a true friend never relies on another's dream. The man, who would be my friend, must have his own reason for living, beyond me. And he should put his heart and soul into protecting his dream. He should never hesitate to defend it, even against me. For me to call a man my friend, he must be equal to me in all respects.