Before soul chose form and root,
A lonely God wept, and from his tears, five children were born,
To each, he gifted a land,
To each land, a lifeflame—a Candela, to feed its power
and guide souls between life and death,
There, the Ferie Realm was birthed,
At its center, an isle of soul, the heart and memory of the Realm,
Where the first Flame burned. Where all souls return.
One god-child wept joy, and forests of blossoming love grew,
One sang hauntingly, luring shadows to build cities of bone,
One outwitted the wind, rewarded with gold-leafed fortune,
One danced for growth, and it rained fertility, eggs of light,
One stood in awe, a sacred hush fell and winter answered, gifting the sky a wave of neon magic.
But unknown to the God, a creature was born. Not by hand, but from the magic of the Ferie Realm itself,
An ancient being,
The mischief-maker, the memory of the lands,
the watcher, the protector,
The carrier of flame.
And if the flames go out,
If the Grove is drained of life,
If spirit can no longer find their way home to Soul Isle,
They will rise. The child of prophecy.
The Skell Queen will carry a child of trueborn power.
The first in Ferie, born of two great lines,
A forked path lies before them—one of free will, one of fate,
Should they choose the written path,
All shall bow,
Even the mightiest ruler will bend the lowest and rise at their side.”
A single streamof blood started to descend from her nostril as Maura began to choke. Then it began to spew out her mouth with a heave.
David wrapped an arm around her and lifted, propping her head up.
