Up before the morning comes, up when the night crawlers are still skulking around. The calm quiet in and around the house with the exception of the crickets is oddly soothing. Is this change? Could the silence be turing into something else? The truth is, as it seems, that survival, the need for change, can sometimes only be made by fire. When the kings sword broke and became the shards of Narsil, it was fire that reforged and tempered the steel into Andúril. Sometimes, most of the time, we want to flee from the fire, but what if instead we embrace the fire, let it forge us, let it make us into someone different, something else? Each of us must endure a crucible and we will either let it break us, continue to live as if were stuck, or grow the stronger for it. The question then remains, what kind of a man am I? History it seems will be the judge of that.