Prologue
Kalana
The Fae Realm
* * *
The ancient forest lay still in the darkness as the seers walked the familiar path toward the sacred grove.Moonlight filtered through branches older than memory, casting silver patterns across moss-covered stones worn smooth by countless gatherings.The head seer, Kalana, moved with the quiet confidence of one who had walked this path for ages, keeping her focus forward—there was no fear that any would lose their way.
They had all made this pilgrimage many times over, their feet knowing each root and hollow by heart.Yet each time they approached the gathering circle, anticipation thrummed through her veins as though this were her first calling to the Aumahnee.One never knew what wisdomthe divine oneswould choose to share, what glimpses of fate would unfold in the sacred smoke.
Looking ahead through the thinning trees, Kalana smiled.She had always treasured these nights when the veil between worlds grew thin.
The grove opened before them like a cathedral of living wood, ancient oaks standing sentinel around a circular clearing.At its heart lay the fire pit, carved from a single block of granite by the first seers generations ago, surrounded by worn stone benches polished smooth by centuries of use—testament to the unchanging nature of their order.
Kalana approached her bench, the one facing due north toward the constellation of the Seeker, and paused.Behind her, the other seers fanned out in their eternal circle, each taking position before their appointed seat.The soft shuffle of robes and quiet footfalls created a gentle rhythm, broken only by the hurried steps of young Berin, their newest scribe, who clutched her leather satchel of parchments and quills with reverent care.
The ritual demanded precision.Only when the head seer took her place could the others follow.Kalana settled onto the cool stone, feeling the familiar grooves worn by her predecessor and her predecessor's predecessor.Around the circle, fourteen seers found their seats in perfect unison, the synchronicity born of centuries of shared practice.
Across from her, Mikelle rose with the fluid grace of long custom.As keeper of the flame, her role was sacred—perhaps the most crucial of all their duties.The fire must be built just so, or the Aumahnee might turn their divine sight elsewhere, leaving the seers blind to the currents of fate flowing through the worlds.
Kalana watched with appreciation as Mikelle worked.First, the foundation of rowan wood, each piece selected for its straightness and the clarity of its grain.The mystical tree's power would anchor their vision, providing a bridge between the earthly realm and the divine sphere where the Aumahnee dwelled.Layer by careful layer, she constructed a perfect pyramid, leaving channels for air to feed the flames that would come.
Then came the quickening herbs—dried moonbell petals that shimmered silver even in the darkness, sage blessed by morning dew, and the precious heartleaf gathered only during the dark of the new moon.Mikelle scattered them with reverence across the waiting wood.Their smoke would lift the seers' consciousness, opening their inner sight to receive the Aumahnee's visions.
If even one step was performed incorrectly, if the proportions were wrong or the builder's heart was not pure, the ritual would fail.The divine ones were generous but not indiscriminate.They shared their sight only with those who approached with proper respect and preparation.
While Mikelle worked her careful magic, Kalana studied the faces of her seers.All appeared serene, their expressions reflecting the peace that came from a life of dedicated service.A few wore small smiles—like her, they anticipated the profound joy of communion with the Aumahnee, that moment when mortal consciousness expanded to touch the infinite.It brought a completeness to the soul that no earthly pleasure could match.
At last, Mikelle stepped back from the perfectly constructed pyre and inclined her head toward Kalana.The deep respect in her gesture warmed her heart.She backed away and took her place on her bench, hands resting quietly in her lap.
Now came Kalana's part in their ancient dance.She rose, extending her right hand toward the fire pit while her left pressed against her heart.The summoning words whispered from her lips in the old tongue, syllables that predated the common speech by thousands of years.Power stirred within her, divine gift recognizing sacred purpose.
A flame burst to life in her palm, cool to her skin but bright as a fallen star.She stepped forward until her hand hovered over the center of the waiting wood, then turned her palm downward.The flame fell like a blessing, and within heartbeats the kindling caught.Fire raced along the prepared channels, embracing the rowan wood with eager tongues of gold and crimson.
The quickening herbs ignited with a soft whisper, releasing their sacred smoke.The scent was indescribable—part flower garden at dawn, part mountain spring, part something that existed only in dreams.Tendrils of silver-white mist began to rise, gradually thickening until the entire circle was shrouded in gentle, luminous fog.
Kalana returned to her seat, already feeling the familiar shift in consciousness as the blessed smoke worked its magic.She looked around the circle, making eye contact with each of her seers in turn.To each she offered a small, solemn bow—both permission and invitation to join the sacred communion.Each returned the gesture, granting their consent and acknowledging her role as their guide into the realm of vision.
Behind her, young Berin rustled her parchments, preparing to record whatever wisdom the Aumahnee chose to share.
The transformation always amazed her.One by one, as the mystical smoke thickened around them, her seers' eyes began to change.The familiar brown, hazel, blue, and gray gave way to the brilliant gold of new spring shoots—the telling eyes that marked them as vessels for divine sight.It was a gift that could not be earned, only bestowed.
When the last pair of eyes had turned to that luminous glow, Kalana felt the presence arrive.It was like being embraced by starlight itself, as though an ancient and benevolent friend had come to sit beside her, sharing its infinite warmth and wisdom.The Aumahnee had answered their call once more.
"Let your eyes see," she intoned, her voice carrying clearly through the sacred mist.
"So we are shown," came the unified response from the circle.
"So shall it be," Kalana completed the invocation.
She turned her attention to the fire, now wreathed in the silver-white smoke that would carry their vision.Sometimes the images came immediately, striking with such force that she gasped aloud.Tonight felt different.The Aumahnee were in no hurry, their divine patience a reminder that mortal urgency meant nothing in the face of eternal wisdom.
The smoke swirled and danced, gradually forming shapes in its gossamer depths.Several figures emerged from the mist—tall forms that looked like men, though something about their bearing seemed otherworldly.Their features remained obscured by the thick vapor, but she could see one, a man, carried a sword while extending his other hand toward a companion, offering something she could not quite discern…
Without warning, the vision shattered.
The mist before her pulled away as though blown by a sudden, cold wind.Darkness rushed in to fill the void, and Kalana blinked in shock, finding herself staring at ordinary firelight instead of divine revelation.The telling eyes had faded back to their natural colors around the circle, leaving her seers looking as bewildered and disoriented as she felt.
