Spectrum: Book 1

Chapter 1: The Festival

"At birth, we're given a name while born into a forming identity.

The sun reveals the world's treachery as mothers bear us in its safe dark corners.

A lack of memory in our eggs only shared by the alchemist's lack of understanding it,

Dedicating their lives to a process perfected by nature & created by the very Gods.

Nature has given a unique gift to two distant but similar relatives,

Sharing a drive only matched by those experiencing eternal damnation from gluttony.

The Underworld's weapon is timelessness, while nature's shield is an abundant lifespan.

Unfortunately, time is but a toy to Gods. The evil ones take this opportunity to reward their followers for exploiting anything abundant.

Hence! Each follower of any or none developed a specific tactic in this Great Kingdom.

The kin shared one for each stage of maturity until the creation of the identity they yearned for!

Some say this is the second or third purpose of the philosopher's stone...

But despite the absurdity of time to those above Mt. Olympus, it utterly rewards whoever shares a divine level of patience.

Ah... a breathtaking sight. Every individual bends light to retain their short existence.

Mother's children must contribute to each other, & this child contributes abundantly.

The creators of an expression taught in many tales that even Gods must follow.

Every year at this time, we are here for one of them as it is there for us, the lost light in eternal darkness.

Tonight, that darkness is no more! We contribute to all who feel lost in their abyss! When the sun is absent, YOU are the bearer of your light! YOUR protected flame can only navigate the gloomy path of a chosen destiny! The purpose of fire isn't selfish pursuit or destructive weaponization but to invigorate your soul & encourage the cultivation of others!

PRAISE EPHORA, THE MOTH GOD!!!"

Bomp! Bomp! Bomp! Bomp!

The sound of booming drums engulfs the town with the rhythm of marching soldiers, pounding with enough force for the stars to overhear. About a hundred men and women, all in the same attire for the special occasion. Each wore orange headbands resembling moth antennae, followed by radiant robes with two shades of orange striped from top to bottom. They even wore wide cloaks with more dazzling hues of orange & brown patterned throughout, the cover resembling the wings. At the same time, the robes copied the body of the atlas moth. If you were a considerable & elevated distance away, the combination of the night breeze and battering of instruments made the band seem like an insect colony preparing to migrate.

The old woman who gave the speech earlier wore similar garments except pink & yellow. She stretches her arms towards the sky, closes her eyes, and cries, "Let Ephora hear your prayers!" After hearing their second cue, the band increased the speed of their beat.

A large gathering of friends and families waited 4 seasons to not only show off their diverse, vibrant moth costumes but also for their town to be blessed once again. Every year brought something different, yet despite gloomy times, this celebration always kept them together, believing that every year was enriched or saved by Ephora.

Thousands of palms pressed together, each head bowed above their hands. Then, a flow of whispers only loud enough for the wind and the dead to hear crept out. As the praying died, cyan light glowed in the closed palms of each person who finished their prayer. One after the other, the fluorescent glow disappeared in a brief flash for each person.