WIP - prologue

Prologue

Every story has a beginning. That of a Faerie is sowed from the stars. Predestined eons before their existence, every living Fae on Ellavya has their own star-written fate. Yet, no warning, no prophecy, could have prepared Aeson for the change coming his way.

It had been a long trek home for the healer. The final traces of winter were vanishing and in its stead, flowers of all shades and colors were beginning to bloom. He had worn his winter boots for good measure, but the only thing beneath his feet, when he wasn't atop his horse, was that of freshly growing grass or puddles of the melted white dust.

Though the trip was a few days' time, it was a familiar one. At least once a year, around the new year, Aeson would travel to the neighboring town. The window for Elauneus' growth, a violet flower with magical properties. was small. If he didn't get any on time, he'd run low on pain medication.

As healer of Araven, he made certain to always have enough of every herb on hand to be able to take care of any illness he had a cure for at all times. Nyssal, just a forest away, was the closest place where Elauneus flowers could be found. Though he could have them delivered, Aeson had always been meticulous. He didn't trust others to pick as he did. He checked for the longest stem, the darkest shade of purple and the freshest petals.

It's all in the details.

The residents in Araven would have started the new year festivities by now, but Aeson was mainly looking forward to kicking off his boots and sinking into bed in his own home. If you can call a one room square shaped residence with a singular window a home. The small space wasn't from lack of funds. If he wanted, he could have afforded a larger living area. There had simply never been a need for it. He was hardly ever home to begin with, keeping himself busy in town. That's how he liked it. He had traveled for so long with so little that he no longer saw the allure in materialistic possessions.

As long as he had a place to sleep at night, a roof to shield him from bad weather and a warm meal at the end of the day, he had no complaints. What he wanted couldn't be bought or brought back. Despite the countless prayers to the Gods.

Two hundred years had passed since Aeson left his home, friends and even family with the excuse of needing to distance himself after the war of Finalities. The small gateway turned into a year long trip which then turned into a century away.

Dusk was nearing. Hues of a reddish orange painted the ground while the last rays of gold peaked through the endless rows of empty branches. The shadows of a flock of firebirds flying overhead swiped across the ground. Aeson's head shot up as the red fiery birds screeched their presence.

On any other ordinary trip, he would have arrived home and at this time, he would be feasting on a warm meal, hearing the festivities from outside. If it weren't for an unusual phenomenon that had distracted him.

It was a quick flash of light crossing the stars that caused Aeson to pull back on the reins of the brown mare he was riding. Shooting stars were a common occurrence on this day and the healer wouldn't have paid it a second thought if it hadn't been of an irregular size and color. Aeson squinted against the bright golden ball which nearly blinded him. His horse reared as it left the ground trembling when it landed just a few miles instead of evaporating in space.

"By the stars," Aeson muttered under his breath and hopped off his horse. His feet landed on a cushion of wet leaves. "What was that?"

As if the Gods were granting him answers, a path lit up right before his eyes. It pulsated and flowed all at once, like a river with a beating heart. Swirls of white mixed into the metallic liquid. Whatever was waiting at the end of the golden trail, Aeson felt propelled to find out. He walked along the liquid, not daring to touch it from fear that it would incinerate his hand.