Death is the most terrible thing to exist.
From your first breath to your last, you will fight it.
Every one, every one who has ever lived, the crushing weight of all of human history; they fought it, and handed you your tools.
The sprawl and struggle of the weight of all humanity will fight it with you, with tools they were given and with tools they will make.
And if, for you, the fight is not finished, those who come after will pick up the tools you forged, and they will make them yet better.
One day, we will take these tools and with the churning might of the whole of humanity we will cast death down. Rusted and broken, the throne will stand empty and we will dance in the fire that destroys it for always and humanity will weep for those who could not be there to see it.
You are not dead, yet, and until you are gone you do not know how great your tools could become.
You do not yet know, if you will be the one to burn that throne.