The world stands on the shoulders of those who voluntarily agreed to become the foundation. But foundations aren't granted medals; they are only granted the dampness and the weight of others' hopes. One man decided to become the oxygen for a city that had long forgotten how to breathe. But the price of one CLEAN breath FOR MILLIONS is an eternal drought in the heart of one. When drops of black blood mix with the rain, the city stands still. Not out of gratitude, no. It is simply waiting for the next legend to agree to vanish, just so this mechanism can keep turning.