World of the Inked Expanse: The Intrepid

[00:00:00] Speaker A: Content warning for this episode of World of the inked expanse. The story of the weaver of Hope and the mother of night contains discussion of spiders. Listener discretion is advised. In the laws of the universe lie stories untold, and through only their tellers do tales unfold. Worlds are shaped by words and stories. This is a fact which is commonly known. However, such tales are often born from a lineage. Much like stars that scatter the sky. They are birthed from cycles. Stories are formed from actions, which are then formed from intentions. Intention is birthed from people, which are formed by stories, a never ending sequence of new beginnings. The rhythm and prose of each cycle shapes what is yet to come. Tales of heroes and their deeds outline the planes before them, releasing their intentions into the ether and allowing future generations to bend their narratives into worlds. Describing and sharing of histories become cosmologies and cultures, and thus new successions begin as images on parchment are scrawled and danced. Thus begins the world of the inked expanse. Not become such without their endeavors. Indeeds a risk taken. People aided, a moment of peace brought to those in turmoil. The hope of one's future must begin with purpose, the desire to be intended and effective, even if for a small amount of time. Thus a quest is planted firm in the grounds of mortal soil. From there, hope weaves her life force into intention, holding hands with destiny to spark creation. A hero's journey is born, and a call to adventure starts penning itself organically. All heroes must start somewhere, and with that, so must we. This is the story of the cleric of light and the hopeweaver. [00:02:23] Speaker B: Followers of the pantheon and followers of the Tome were never really able to settle on why it had started. Some would claim the gods were disputing. Some would call upon natural changes within the land. Others would say bad luck or a hero meeting an untimely end. Monsters, relics, artifacts, curses, all sorts of excuses came to light. But the cause didn't matter. The outcome was the same months of disaster across the map, through fires and terrains and floods and earthquakes, hurricanes, hailstorms, blizzards, typhoons, tornadoes, volcanoes. It was as if the land was rending itself, twisting itself inside out. And then one day, the terrain settled. The era that historians would later call the reckoning had come to an end. Though things had stabilized and immediate dangers had quelled, the people of the inked expanse were left picking up the pieces of their lives and starting to rebuild. In Asburg, the country in the southwest of the map, at a still standing monastery of Niravadi, an orcish woman by the name of Soleila was settling in for bed. It had been a long day of rebuilding and feeding the people without homes in which to feed themselves. She took care to place her amulet of the sun on her bedside table, changed into her bedclothes, and said her nightly prayers. Settling beneath her blankets, she closed her eyes and fell asleep. She dreamt that night she was at her window, watching as the sun rose over the western horizon. The western horizon where the sun usually set. She saw the land not as it was, but as a drawing. She could see the rest of Asmerg laid out before her, and beyond that, Yeklea traila rain. The whole lay of the land stretched before her, towering mountains appearing as folds in the paper like quality of the roads and rivers and expanse before her. It took her breath away, seeing the world in a way the gods might countless towns and settlements full of people she couldn't see, living lives she could only imagine. Solea's eyes were wet, though with what feeling, she couldn't say. She saw her town below, happy, working hard to rebuild, and in the land ahead, so much destruction and entropy. The sun's presence warmed her, and she turned toward it. I want to help people, she whispered. Help me help them. Tell me where to go. And the sun, Niravati's own light, rising from the west, backwards from its usual route, cast a beam of light upon the page, creating a golden path across the map. The light traveled all the way from Udabag in northern Iblia to her small town in Asmerg, where Solea watched from her bedroom window. It washed over her, filling her chest with warmth. You want me to follow the light, the path you've created? The warmth bloomed and the beam of light shifted from her face to her bedside. It fell upon the sun on her chain and slowly faded as though it were soaking into the amulet. Solea woke up to light in her room. Ambient morning light helped to shake any lingering tiredness from her eyes. The amulet beside her also cast light around the room. She sat up and grabbed it. The familiar sun on the chain had changed, melted. It was now droplet shaped, the sun rays still stretching from the central mass. It looked like a tear from the sun itself. Brow furrowed and with the sights of her dreams still swimming in her mind, Solea grabbed the amulet and rushed out the door. Solea was quite fond of one of the older chaplains at the monastery, an earth janassi by the name of Archaean, and knew that they would be able to grant her the wisdom and advice she needed. She burst through their door, holding the amulet out to her mentor, and explained the vision she had had. A vision such as this archaean began after Selea finished. Her story is not something to be dismissed or ignored. Not only did you see the world anew, you have also been given a gift. They passed the amulet back to the orc. Very powerful. Divine magic is coming from this Solea. I believe you have been called forth by niravati itself to go to help the people of the incident expanse. It created a path for me in my dream, Soleila recalled. I remember that it started here in Asmerg and traveled northeast, but I don't remember the specifics of the path. Have you put the amulet on? Archaean asked. Solea flushed as she realized she hadn't yet. She carefully unclasped the hook and settled it around her neck, feeling the metal, surprisingly warm, rest against her chest. A candle in the corner of the room flared, and she blinked her eyes for a moment, and when her sight returned to normal, she could see a thin, golden wisp of light emanating from the symbol on the chain leading through the closed door of Archeean's quarters. This droplet of sunlight seemed to be guiding her, presumably on the path Niravati created for her. She gasped excitedly, sharing her findings with Archeon. I see no sense in delaying. I'll pack my things and head off right away. The people need my help. Archeon laughed and nodded. Gather your things, Solea. I'll prepare a wagon for you and see you get some food for your journey. Within a half hour, Solea was set to depart, grabbing the bar of the hand cart and setting off on her journey. The glowing strand of light guiding her way was barely perceptible under the greater light of the sun, and as she traveled, she thought she may have lost her way as the glimmering light of the sundrop, as she come to think of it, led her to a familiar door, the front stoop of her brother's tailor shop. Solea and her brother Filia were close, though as Solea grew busier in the aftermath of the reckoning, time to visit him had become sparse. It certainly didn't help that her brother was a bit reclusive. Ever since childhood, he preferred his own company, and in the wake of all the disasters, he had hold himself away even more. Why the sundrop let her hear, she couldn't be sure, but trusting in her God, she pushed the door to the shop open with a creak. Perhaps he was the first one she needed to help. She called out for him as she entered the building and was surprised to see the shop empty and dark. The door down to the cellar was a jar, and the orc called out once again for her brother as she approached the stairs. Still no response. The light of the amulet seemed to want her to go down. With a sigh and shrug, she began tromping down the stairs, and there, in the basement was Filio, squinting hard at a large loom before him. Filio, I thought something was the matter. Your shop's completely empty. She barreled toward her brother for a hug. Filio startled, having been lost in thought, but as his sister held him tight, he smiled and returned to the embrace. Solea, it's great to see you. I've got incredible. Solea began, and she recounted her dream and her mission to her brother, excitedly showing him the sundrop on her necklace and describing the new guiding path she could see. Though he seemed thrilled for her, his brow remained furrowed. She asked him what was the matter, and Filio stepped aside to give her a better look at his loom. Soleilo was shocked, unable to help the quiet gasp that escaped her lips. It's so funny you should describe this golden path, Felio began, when I can't seem to stop weaving one of my own. The wool he had woven together was white and black. Lines of thread etched a plethora of topographical features. Mountains, rivers, towns, and winding through all of it was a golden path. I couldn't tell you how it happens. One moment I'm working on a pattern, and the next I'm shaking myself out of a stupor and have this. He gestured to piles of folded fabrics all around the room, with the same pattern of the map woven in. Filio. Selea squealed. This is a sign. My path led me to you. You are to go with me across the inked expanse and help the people. Filio paused, chewing on his lip. Now how could that be when I'm not a follower of the sun? I couldn't possibly tell you. Solea clapped her brother on the shoulder. But what else could it mean? Filio's eyes widened. A once forgotten, fearsome deity. A malicious spirit luring me away. A general unwellness of the brain. It's the same terrain. It's connected our fate, our destiny is to travel together. Solea was really getting riled up now. We'll follow the path that I saw in my journey, that you're weaving into fabric, and we'll bring aid to the people of the inked expanse. Filio cleared his throat. Is this like a weekend trip? Or are we talking more long term? Solea was already busy gathering up the discarded fabrics into her arms. As long as it takes. You weren't planning on selling these, were you? They look pretty neglected. No, I wasn't. Solea, I can't just leave my shop. It's a sabbatical. I'm sure you're allowed to do that. As the owner, Filio continued to sputter questions, doing his best to counter his sister's arguments. She had always been headstrong, jumping into anything and everything without a second thought, smiling and laughing in the face of opposition and insecurity. She was so different from him. But try as he might, he couldn't shake both his sister's confidence in their destiny and the flutter in his heart that told him that this was something bigger and beyond him. I'm going to put these in the cart. You go pack up anything you need or want to bring. Oh, and grab some food before you come out, too. So Leia squeezed the bundle of fabrics to her chest and began to hobble up the stairs, leaving Filio in the cellar below. She made it back to the cart, standing up on her tiptoes to place the fabrics on the back. She was in the middle of tying some ropes across the back to secure them when the light coming from her amulet flashed. The sun overhead seemed to flare bright, and when her eyes adjusted, the direction had changed. Pointing northeast, the door of Felio's shop shut with a finality, Soleila looked up to see Felio locking the door, a large pack on his back with a canteen and other various bobbles and necessities dangling from the side. He turned to look at his sister. Well, the path ahead awaits, I suppose. Which way? Soleila grinned and grabbed onto the handle of the cart. She nodded with her head. Northeast, the direction of Saith nalor. Celio took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, shifting his pack slightly. Well, at the very least, I hear they have some brilliant dyes. [00:12:02] Speaker A: When a hero's journey begins, they are often not alone. External forces will often attach themselves to such beacons of aspiration, becoming the paper which guides the pen and its narrative. It is then uncovered that the teachings of few become the lessons of many. Molding present heroics from past discoveries, the world and its inhabitants guide the hero onward to selfrealization. This is the story of the prismatic. [00:12:27] Speaker C: Grove in an era of the inked expanse. Far in the past, there was a small town between towns, often overlooked by travelers taking a more well trodden path. This town's name was Momis, and it resided in the region now known as Yecla. There in Momis, there was a healer by the name of Tridon. Tridon began as an apprentice under the former healer, and Tridon's teacher had a teacher, continuing farther than writing goes. Therefore, the home that Tridon lived in had writings old and wise, and helped them many times in assisting them in healing the people of their town. Wisdom, like learning from the creatures around them, using small strings to stitch wounds closed, like how the tailor birds made their nest, using varied diets to assist in digestion and health, similar to the elephants that wandered through every so often, using fish skins to assist in healing burn wounds and observed behavior of the grung people that lived in a nearby swamp. All written in tomes and scrolls that lined the walls of Tredon's hut. But as is common in many areas of many worlds, a cursed disease fell upon the town that no current mind could cure. Tridon's herbs fell to dust, potions to steam, the food of the town to rot, and the minds of those affected to planes and ideas unspoken, Tridon fell into a fervor, hastily digging through any writing they could find to find assistance in this dark time. Unable to find anything, Tredon turned to the final thing they could think of, to the magic that is in the color of this world. Tridon attempted to bring in all colors, to purely banish this plague from the expanse. And failed. The plague remained, and Tridon's soul was ripped into many pieces, embedding itself into the tomes and books that were now strewn across their home. The gods frowned upon this failure of their magic, however, and twisted the fate of the town. Tridon, now dead, didn't know that his now prismatic soul provided a haven of healing for all that could find it. Those who fall to dreams within the walls of Tredon's hut are cured of all ailments, including the cursed disease, upon Momus. The citizens of Momis slept there because they were seldom visited. The plague left them shortly after it came and failed to spread. Although the town of Momis is no longer on any map, those who are lucky enough to stumble upon a grove of trees that have consumed Tridon's hut and rest there find themselves empowered by the magic of the realm, mantled by the will of one who sacrificed themselves for the benefit of all. [00:15:31] Speaker A: With pen in hand, the hero sets off discovery and self realization on the horizon. They step into what is commonly referred to as the beginning, crossing the threshold on the life they leave behind and entering a narrative that is foreign to them. Reflecting on the core values in which their life has been built, the hero uses their love and worth to propel them forward in their story. However, the utilization of such core values predestines their path to cross with many unknown figures. This is the story of divine love. [00:16:02] Speaker D: Long ago, before many of the places and people we know today, the gods fought each other. They fought to keep or gain their places as deities of the colorful magic of this world. They fought for each other, for justice, for hate. Each had their own justification for this violence, and it lasted centuries. The people of the inked expanse could feel the disturbance in their lives. Nothing survived long without the help of the gods, and the planet became a waste. Down below, in the cold desert planet lived a girl. She was given the name Aliki and belonged to two loving parents. As nothing survives long here, her parents died as she became an adult. She expected this and had already prepared herself for this tragedy. She mourned returning their bodies to the earth. As was customary, Aleki continued on with no one and nothing to save her. She was a survivor. She fought for her own life and the lives of many others in her lifetime. Aleki was the first to love a God. In this time, there was a God. Their name no longer matters. There's no record of it, but we will call them Chroma for the sake of the story. This God had the power to wield every color of magic, including the ones we never knew of. Because she was a chromatic deity, her power was unknown even to herself. In this war, she had the means to end it by taking control of all colors and redistributing it fairly to each other. Deity. Unfortunately, many knew this. She became an enemy to all. Deities will try to keep their power, no matter the cost. But one cannot keep power they are unaware of. It is theirs to find first, and that journey takes many years. Chroma had one outstanding enemy, a deity of black magic known to us in this story as death. Like Chroma, this God's name is no longer recorded and should never be said, even if such a record does exist. Death was furious. They should have power over all colors, not chroma. Black is the absence of light, and few things are more powerful than the absence of light in life. Death was angry and led this war into oblivion. They had almost won. With a caveat. Chroma found alike praying, as most do for deities. She found alike so comforting and so bright that she couldn't help but enjoy her company in secret. Beyond the veil, Aliki prayed every day hoping for a better life. [00:18:33] Speaker B: Thank you for the joy I hear in the children's laughter. Thank you for the smiles I see every day from those in the hardest places to any who are listening. We are dying. We ask only for a bit of hope and life on this planet. [00:18:50] Speaker D: She paused. [00:18:51] Speaker B: Are we doomed to this life for eternity? [00:18:54] Speaker D: Kroma shifted uncomfortably, for she thought she had no power as a deity in this world. Alike prayed like this every day by the oasis where she gathered water for the people of her community. And every day Chroma heard her pleas and felt she could do nothing to help. One day, as Aleki prayed by the water, Chroma shifted again and fell through the veil that exists between mortals and gods. Aleki looked surprised. [00:19:18] Speaker B: Who are you? [00:19:19] Speaker D: Chroma looked uncomfortable and perplexed as to why she fell through or why this woman could see her. I am Chroma, she stutters. I do not know how I ended up here. Alike steps back and bows immediately. Chroma straightened herself out and lifted Aliki's head with her finger until they were looking in her eyes. You are so kind and beautiful. I've heard your prayers, but I am unable to do anything about them. Chroma, let Aleki stand upright. I wish I could help, but this war is affecting the mortals more than I thought. Aleckey frowns in sadness. [00:19:56] Speaker B: It is getting more difficult every day. I do my best to help, but it only barely staves off the impending doom we all feel. [00:20:03] Speaker D: Maybe I can help you with mundane tasks, Chroma said. I would like to feel useful. [00:20:09] Speaker B: Of course. We would love that. [00:20:10] Speaker D: I would love that, Aleki replied. And so, for the next few years, Chroma stayed on the planet and helped this community grow. As she spent her time gathering water, weaving baskets, hunting prey, she felt her powers grow more and more until she was able to start doing magic of all colors for the people here. Aliki smiled as Chroma conjured a flower out of thin air with green magic for a child in the community. Aliki no longer prayed every day, as her only dream now was to stay with Chroma forever. She loved her, and Chroma loved her back. They built a life together over the first few years, and Chroma imparted to Aliki the details of the godly war. Their life was beautiful, but eventually the war caught up to Chroma. In her escape, she sometimes forgot about the tragedy in the heavens, but death would not let her forget for long. Death had been watching Chroma, and as Chroma's powers grew stronger. So too did death's hatred and fear of her. Death hatched a plan. They would kidnap this Aliki, this mortal that Chroma loved, in exchange for Aleki's life. Death wanted Chroma to release her powers and become mortal herself. And so this came to pass. One night, death came down, broke the veil between worlds, and grabbed Aliki. In the night, Aleki slept peacefully until they returned to the world of gods and was awoken by death. She struggled against her binds until she realized who this was. She bowed her head in reluctance and stopped struggling. Death approved of her actions and allowed Aliki to stay awake. In the morning, Chroma awoke to find Aliki gone with an indication of where she is and what death wants. Chroma angrily made her way back to the world of gods and there saw Aliki bound and watching. Give her back to me, Chroma growled. She is not yours to take. Death sighed. [00:22:08] Speaker A: I wish it was so simple, little one. Alas, the love you feel for her will be your undoing. I want you to release your powers. [00:22:20] Speaker D: Death stroked Aleki's face. [00:22:22] Speaker A: Or I will kill her. [00:22:26] Speaker D: Aleki did not tremble in fear, for she saw in Chroma's eyes that she was going to give up her ability to wield all magic. A tear slipped down her face. Chroma looked at the mortals she loved and knew that no magic in the world was worth losing her. Yes, of course, I. Aleki spoke. [00:22:43] Speaker B: Chroma, she whispered, do not do this. You have the power to save us all. [00:22:49] Speaker D: Chroma shook her head, not listening to the words alike begged. [00:22:54] Speaker B: Please, you need to set things right. [00:22:56] Speaker D: In one last effort, Aleki said these words. [00:23:00] Speaker B: I do not love you. [00:23:03] Speaker D: Chroma stopped. That cannot be. They spent years together fighting for life, fighting to stay alive in the world. Aleki cannot be telling the truth. [00:23:13] Speaker B: Look into my eyes and tell me. [00:23:15] Speaker D: I am lying, Aleki said, her resolve as cold as steel. [00:23:19] Speaker B: I do not love you. You are a means to an end. I had you stay with us so you could provide for us. But I never loved you. [00:23:27] Speaker D: Chroma began to cry silently, her face like stone. She thought back to all the things she had done for Aliki's community, and it made sense. She did many things for them, and alike was not one to lie. Chroma took a deep breath. I will not relinquish power to you, death. I take my place as rightful ruler of all magics and banish you for eternity. In one last defiant effort, death took Aleki's life before Chroma's eyes, the details of the end of the war are unknown, as are many things pertaining to gods and their deeds. The outcome of this war is known. However, Chroma defeated death, removing black magic from their grasp, and took control of all colors of magic. She fairly distributed them among the deities, requiring justice and balance with all positions. Chroma herself disappeared after this, and black magic now belongs to Tana, a less vengeful deity. This story does not indicate whether Aleki truly loved or never loved Chroma. But in other records from Aleki's community, every single one champions that Alecki's love was true. What you choose to believe is your own choice. But regardless, this story belongs to Aleki, the one who saved our planet. [00:24:48] Speaker A: Along their path, a hero will discover a myriad of different characters. Some may aid their journey, fostering the fire that our hero has lit in ways that feed their quests and values. Others will try to douse such a vibrant flame, cowering from the light and truth that boldly shines through it. Allies and enemies in kind follow the hero's journey intently, forcing choices and trials alike onto the paper that paths their tale. This is the story of shield and clay. [00:25:18] Speaker B: The sky city of Valem had always been a glimmering prize over the inked expanse, a prodigal beacon of opulent construction and abundant protection. Soaring high above Trela, it was always a sight to behold. The metropolis had been founded on the ideas of protection, advancement, and distribution, and the cityscape raised from its dislike. Foundation reflected just that. Shielding barriers, both arcane and practical, surrounded the utopia in such a way that bordering countries often mistook it for a falling comet of ice and glass. And while the knowledge it held could fill a celestial body, it was only made of slate and stone. The true value came with those who inhabited the city. The brightest archonest and strongest swordsmen often waited for their chance to migrate to the hanging haven, knowing well that most who settle down in such perfection often find no reason to return to solid ground. With all of the knowledge, art, innovation, and security that the lem provides, there is no reason for one to desire to leave. That is, until a certain child was born. To two of the city's greatest defenders, Revan and Zalara, Elon decided to name their first and only born child, Sibyl, after her grandmother before her. Destined for bravery, fortitude, and strength, she was intended to be adored by all. And given her lineage, she was just that. Her father, Riven, was top of his division and known as the first fabricator of Valem's arcane line of defenses. In tandem, her mother, Zalara, was the city guard's head of shielding and the manager of its last line of defense, just as her mother and grandmother before her. Together, the pair of Asomr are still known in history books as the Divine Protectors of the Haven, with Sybil inheriting the title prodigy of the Haven by following their footsteps from her early years, she was put forward as a public symbol of peace and vigor. She had not chosen this for herself, but she also did not reject it. She knew nothing else, and therefore she remained the prodigy she was predestined to be. Years carried on, and Sybil continued to grow. Her hair grew lighter under the sun, her pale skin became freckled, and years of combat training in history lessons under the best tutors concurrently grew her body and mind. Responsibility became her heir, and devotion became her heart. She quickly grew into everything the hanging haven needed her to be, an emblem of their future generations. With that, she would return home every night to an empty house, knowing solitude and silence only in her personal quarters. Childhood came and went, shortly followed by her teenage years, until routine and practice had become all she could ever be. She had fulfilled her divine duties set forward by her parents, which was further confirmed on the night of her 20th birthday, a knock was heard at her door, and the messenger delivered her a missive sent by the high lord of Valem. He had requested her for a diplomatic mission that involved descending to the surface of Treyla and meeting with a local family rumored to house an oracle's reincarnation. The goal was simple. Ask the oracle for insight on the future of Valem and return with a response. What was unknown to Sybil was that this earthbound family would change the course of her life. [00:28:18] Speaker A: I have felt grass before, and this is definitely not it. The turf on villem is firm and predictable. I can always tell where I am going and how long it will take. This grass is soft, plush. It bounces beneath me as I walk, and I do not enjoy it in the slightest. That being said, there is so much of it. I mean, when the high lord had told me the Beckett family lives in the countryside, I had assumed it would be meager and dull. But this? No, none of the pictures in my textbooks could have prepared me for the rolling waves of fields and flowers that stretch out before me. The only two things disrupting the expanse of flora is a small town about a mile away and a thatched roof that is significantly closer. My doubts start to sink in as I remind myself I am clearly and way over my head, but I push them down to the pit of my stomach where my determination lies, and approach the stead furling in my divine wings as to not take up too much space. The home is small and quaint. Its foundation is rickety and could topple at any second, but at least the bricks on the walls seem newer. I knock on the door. It takes a few seconds, but after some scrambling and shuffling, an older man opens the door. His hands are shaking from age, but he still smiles and looks up. From his hunched posture. Cracked skin, reminiscent of sandstone gives some pattern to his visage besides his male pattern baldness as he adjusts round spectacles and looks up with dark, cracked slate eyes. Oh, hello. How can I help you today, Miss? He questions. I smile curtly, just as mother taught, and slightly nod my head downwards. Hello, Mr. Beckett. My name is Sybil Elon, divine prodigy of the haven and herald of the high lord of Valem. I added the latter part, knowing well that that is not my official title. I was sent to follow up on some previous correspondence about the location of the oracle's reincarnation. My apologies if my presence was not properly communicated. Not in the slightest, he remarks, swinging open the door to a somewhat cluttered and shaded interior. Come in quickly, Oriana, Aki exclaims over his shoulder. Put on the kettle for our guest and retrieve your sister. She has a visitor from Valem. A shadow behind him whisks to what I can only assume is the kitchen, kindly obeying his requests. After a few minutes of painful small talk about Valem's current events and Treyla's weather, two earth genossi figures enter from the back doorway, clearly related in lineage. Walking out first is a young woman, no more than ten years old, with light hair complementing the lighter layers of her visage. The woman behind her, however, stands, guarding and proud, looking about twice her sister's age. She softly grins. Her eyes glow like warm orange clay, and her tan logs fall over her shoulders as if they too, felt time stop. She is strong, but she is clearly soft hearted, and when she looks at me, my gaze lingers. Subtlety has never been my specialty. Come over, child. Mr. Beckett gestures as the younger girl approaches. Miss Elam, this is Asa. She is the one I have been telling the high lord about. I stand up, offering my chair to the young girl and choosing to sit on the floor beside her. Asa approaches timidly, sitting at her throne with who I can only assume is Oriana close behind, kneeling beside the seat. This close, I can tell she smells of the wildflowers I walked through to get here. It is sickening, and yet I aspire to be it. Looking towards Asa, I introduce myself. Hey, kid, my name is Sybil. I decide to leave off the formalities this time around. I was sent by a friend to ask you something. Is that alright with you? Asa sheepishly nods, not opening her mouth to speak. I breathe deeply, stealing a glance at her older sister beside the both of us. As I kneel in front of the child's perch, looking directly in her eyes, I ask what the high lord has requested of me. What is the fate of the hanging haven? My answer reaches me as a torrent of whispers infiltrate my mind, starting small and quickly growing to the roar of a stadium's crowd. Wind whips around the room, catching papers and cloth left loose, and shadow begins to creep into my vision. My senses flood with sound and thought, and it takes every ounce of training I have ever had to not topple over to the ground. I brace myself on the arm of the chair and quickly feel a foreign hand grip onto my wrist, supporting my weight along with the chair. That is when one voice is heard above the rest. A battle for life will request the aid of whom, which, with defenses made, must make a choice of which to save. From hands of an unruly glave, the future and past lie in the hands of one who with devotion stands betwixt the shield and clay below, deciding who takes their final blow. A prophecy foretold. I fall to the ground. The next thing I know, I am awake on a much more plush surface than the hardwood floor. At first I assume it is the grass I had walked on to get to the Beckett's homestead. Surely they had just dragged me out after I weakly lost consciousness. I mean, that's what I would do. Not my circus, not my grishes, you know. However, as I start to rouse, I see a roof above my head, and I quickly realize that the grass below me was in fact a soft floor mat with blankets over the top. To the left of me is a warm, crackling fire, and to the right is her sitting with her knees up and a bowl of dinner rested on top of them. Her attention turns to me as I stir. She quietly turns her gaze, and in a soft, low, melodic voice she says, do you fall on every single diplomatic mission your high lord sends you on? I blink my eyes and slowly sit up. I must have been staring too longingly at the food in her lap, because as soon as I am fully upright, she hands me a bowl similar to hers. Not all of them, I tease. Just the most important ones, apparently. She chuckles as I shake off what I can only assume is blatant desperation on my part. Well, she responds, it's a good thing your mission is complete. Then. I hesitate, taking my first bite to consider her words. She's right. I completed my task. An awkward silence later, I nod and hum in agreement. She looks at me. No reason to really stick around. She sarcastically laughs. Another awkward silence passes, followed by a yep, I'm great at this. As soon as I take the last bite of my meal, I stand up in search for a wash basin to place the dishes. In taking in the living space, I begin to see more life than before. Painted portraits frame the wall along with a child's drawing and spelling bee prizes. Tomes are scattered in batches, heavily annotated and bookmarked. This home is filled with so much presence and life it almost feels alien. Then I start to see it. Her name, scrawled on things I see belongs to Oriana, scratched into the sides of books. Oriana on ribbons lining the walls for Oriana, sewn into a quilt by Oriana at the beginning of poems. I turn around as I am heading towards the door. Is it all right if I come and see you again? [00:35:48] Speaker B: Upon returning to Valem, Sybil was escorted to the house of the High lord, where she promptly told him of the prophecy. Concerned about the eventual choice he would have to make, he set up a route to pass over the home of the Beckets once a year. He assigned Sybil as his messenger and requested that she follow up with the oracle's reincarnation when their city's path crossed the homestead. Given her natural flying talents due to her heritage, she was always the obvious choice. The High lord thanked her for her devotion and expediency in her missions, so much so that he gifted her with a new title, Sybil the prodigy of the Haven and ambassador of outland communications. While Sybil was proud of her title, her true prize was beyond the arcana and glass encapsulating Valem. After her second visit to the home in Traila, Sybil and Oriana began exchanging letters. Oriana told tales about gaudy diplomats that visited their house in search for answers from Asa, but the oracle would not respond to anyone besides Sybil. Sybil joked about her own importance, as that was clearly the reason why only she found success. Banter continued, and soon the letters became more constant. Their camaraderie grew quickly into friendship and soon blossomed into something more. Just like the wildflowers that scattered Oriana's countryside, their love grew and expanded without caution. Once a year, they would reunite, and after Sybil had received her foretellings from the oracle's reincarnation, the two spent the rest of the day out in the fields together. For five years. This was so. During their 6th year of correspondence, Sybil noticed that Oriana's letters hinted at something dark, an armor clad force with a heavy metal face covering. The only defining features that had been seen by survivors were a blade that was rumored to decimate armies and two flaming eyes with a furious orange glow. This figure seemed as if they were hunting for something, and Oriana seemed concerned that they would not stop until they obtained their prize. Such dangers made Sybil anxious to return to Oriana's side. This time, she had not intended on returning home. She planned to relinquish her title upon arriving at Trayla. However, the fates of the inked expanse had something else in mind. [00:37:48] Speaker A: The worst sight to ever see in the midst of danger is stillness. Yet as I once again softly land on the familiar fields of the Beckets, nothing was moving. The flowers were stagnant as the wind refused to blow, and the clouds overhead blocked the sun from prompting field mice and insects to show themselves. The only movement was off in the distance as smoke stacks a billow from the fiery glow of a town ablaze in the distance. I know they are coming. I sprint across the fields to the house, not taking my normal pace to admire the flora. Rushing to the door, I swing it open to find the beckets all huddled together in the corner of the room. Mr. Beckett was the first to stand, rushing over to the door to shut and lock it. The interior was dark, but that is as it should be. My child, he hastily greets. We are going to have to reschedule our annual lunch. I am afraid there is no time for all of that. You should return home at once. He continues to speak in hushed tones, but I drown it out as I scan the room for Asa and Oriana. Sure enough, they are both huddled together on the other side of the chair. I had met them both in turning the furniture on its side. I rush over to both of them and quickly ask, are you okay? Are you both okay? Are they here? Oriana looks firmly at me and begins to nod as the wooden door of the home splinters open. The sheer power of it all forces Mr. Beckett onto his back, toppling to the floor, and in the flurry of cloaks and metal, a figure steps through. They are hulking and imposing and everything I have always been taught to steer away from. Yet in this moment, I watch as their blade sinks into the core of Mr. Beckett on the floor. Oriana lets out a wailing scream as the life leaves his eyes, head tilted back to sneak a final glimpse at his children before passing. The knight's weapon is pulled out of the corpse's chest and I can see it now, their blade an obsidian glave framed with thin strands of red crackling lightning and now smattered with the blood of an innocent. I raise my shield. Who is the oracle? They question with a deep, whispering voice. It sounds as if two chains are grinding together in the pit of their diaphragm. No response. They ask again, who is the oracle? Oriana looks to me with an expression I had never seen before. It tells me her entire plan. She is relying on me to get Asa to safety. The tears brewing, my eyes plead for her to stay, to choose to want a life with me, to choose to come to Valem. We could be happy there. We could be safe there. And those same tears fall as her and I both know that I can only carry one person up to Valem with me, and she does not want it to be her. I grip onto her wrist, attempting to support the weight of her choices with her. She still smells of her gardens. She nods and stands up. It's me, she immolates. I am the oracle which you seek. The knight surges forward, shoving Asa into my arms and throwing us both to the side as if we were fruit flies protecting their food in a show of unwavering strength. They clench their fists around Oriana's throat, weapon at the ready, and they tilt their head towards me, looking over their shoulder. Is what she's saying true? They question. I defensively put Asa in between myself and my shield as we back together towards the door, stealing one final glance at Oriana, I can see her expression, pleading, begging for me to let this be her legacy. I turn to the night and struggle to answer. You have found your quarry. While I cannot see their face, I swear I can see a slight grin as they thrust their weapon towards the wildflowers. I shove Asa's face into my core, covering an ear with one hand and dragging her out of the house with the other. She kicks and fights, but she cannot scream as I clutch her clothes and take off to the only safety I have left to know. Together we soar out and above the clouds above as a breeze finally begins to churn and the flowers wave in the wind. [00:41:50] Speaker B: Sybil was able to return to Valem with Asa, the two of them unharmed, immediately using her station to grant them an audience with the high lord, she told him all of what Oriana had written to her and what she had personally seen below. Now, understanding Asa's true identity, he prompted Sybil to make a public statement where she announced that the city was leaving the material plane, never to return. Their city and its advancement was too precious to lose, and with a new threat on the horizon, relocation was necessary. This decision saved the lives of all the great figures who inhabited Valem, and thanks to the prodigy, the hanging haven remained, just as it had set out to do now in possession of the oracle's reincarnation as well. However, to the people of Treyla, such an act was seen as a show of cowardice, and the now dubbed thief of the hanging haven had stolen something too valuable to be forgiven. [00:42:40] Speaker A: With allies made and enemies penned, the hero begins their internal query. What is a hero? Though there are some heroes that are born with a destiny, the majority are called to action and decide whether they respond. There comes a time when they are faced with fear, and the hero must choose. Will they flee danger, or will they persevere? With nothing left to face behind their own principles, a familiar hero approaches an inward facing cavern. Here they are forced to answer one of their many questions. How does one's actions define their pages? This is the story of the weaver of hope and the mother of night. [00:43:22] Speaker E: Deep within the woods of Eclea, where the trees are overgrown in decaying leaves and rotted wood, the mother makes her home, her spindly limbs awaiting those who pass on down the way. She greets you there with open arms, inviting you to stay. She draws you in her strong embrace, plants kisses on your cheek. She wraps you in her quilts and silks and tucks you into sleep. It's warm and cold, both all at once. Your vision becomes blurry, but the mother sings her lullaby and tells you not to worry. Avoid this slumber. Heed my advice. This is a wanderer's prayer. Do not traverse the woods at night, lest you find the mother there. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the streets of Saith Nalor in a warm glow. It was a smaller town in Ecleia, and right on the border of the strathag wood, two tall orcs, casting still taller shadows, pulled a hand cart through the streets. A brother and sister, Filio and Soleila. What a dreadful rhyme, Filio said to his sister, passing the musician singing on the street corner. Soleila laughed and nodded in agreement, pulling the cart a bit quicker. For her brother's sake. I mean it, Solea. I'm not one for being outside, and even less so if there's danger. He pulled his pipe from his bag and began preparing it as he held it between his teeth. We'll travel swiftly through the forest, Filio. I promise. We'll spend the night here and leave it dawn through the wood. If we follow the path and walk with haste, we'll make it out the other side by the time niravati bows again. I don't doubt your faith or your God, Soleia, however, your navigational skills. He pulled an ornate lighter from his pocket and sparked it. Holding it to his pipe. Soleila rolled her eyes and smacked her brother's shoulder lightly. Like you're any better. You're all but a recluse. If I wasn't taking your fabrics to Udabag, you'd still be stitching up a storm in the basement. It's my job. And now you're helping me do mine. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart. May the sun shine on your path and your happiness be bright. Yes, yes, I know, I know. The two were quiet for a while as they walked, and after a moment, Filia let out a long sigh. The disasters have done so much damage. The people of Udebog are so lucky to have good people like you to help them. Soleil smiled. And they're lucky to have a brilliant seamster such as yourself donating these clothes for them. I'll keep you safe, Filio. Don't worry about the woman in the woods. We'll be in and out by nightfall. I'll lead our way. Filio nodded and suggested that maybe Soleila begin by navigating them to the inn that they would be staying at as they had already passed it, and the cleric, embarrassed, turned the cart around, arriving just as the sun sank below the horizon. They stored their cart in the stable, grabbed some dinner, and settled in for the night. Solea said her evening prayers, eyes closed and enjoying the warmth of the crackling fire in their room, while Filio stared up at the bright full moon hanging heavy in the sky, the poem about the mother still chilling his spine. Eventually they settled into their slumber, and just before Niravati raised his head to break the dawn, the two rose from their beds, gathered the cart of fabrics and clothes, and started down the path into the trees. It was a cool morning, and as they pulled the cart along, the mists billowed and swirled out of their way, almost beckoning them deeper into the wood. The road twisted and turned, and divots and puddles along the path made it difficult to pull the cart along. Soleil pulled and Filio pushed, and they began to work up a sweat. Even without the sun's warmth shining from above, the dense leaves filtered out the light overhead and trapped the air below. The stench of wet earth and stagnant water muted any other sense as they walked, and each gnarled, lichen covered tree seemed to blend into the next. At what point will we stop for lunch? Filio eventually piped up from the back of the cart. We're to come across a small pond on the left halfway through, Solea consulted the map. I think that would be a good place to stop for a bite. Do you need to rest sooner? It feels like we've been walking for ages, but it all looks the same and feels like we've only just begun, Filio said. I feel the same way. Look for landmarks. It might help. They traveled on. Isn't it Od? Filio began again after some time that we haven't seen anyone else on the path. And isn't it strange how the path isn't as well marked as we thought? Are you trying to ask if we're on the correct path without asking directly? Yes, Philia said miserably, slapping at his neck as a mosquito buzzed down. There haven't been any forks in the road. There's nowhere we could have gotten off the path they traveled on. Their stomachs began to rumble. Solea suggested they carry on to the lake, but Filio insisted they stop as his feet were beginning to blister against his damp socks. The hard tack and dried fruit they brought quelled their hunger but did little to settle their nerves as they sat and listened to the forest breathing around them. Small creatures scuttling through the underbrush, and occasional harsh cries of birds hidden in the treetops, just out of sight, ringing through the air. They finished their lunch. They traveled on. They walked and walked and pushed and pulled until the darkness of the wood began to grow even darker. Beyond the trees, the sun was setting. Filio stopped pushing the cart. Admit it, Soleila, we're lost. We can't be. We've only followed one trail this whole time. With the rainfall, it's completely possible, no, probable, that our path has been washed away. We've been wandering all day, and we're nowhere near where we should be. The two siblings began arguing back and forth. Neither wanted to turn back, but neither wanted to travel in the dark as they were afraid of missing the path they finally reached the decision to set up a meager camp and figure out what to do in the morning. Solea fished around the lower storage of the cart, pulling out her torches and stuck them in the ground, lighting them in a circle around the cart. With light around us. We'll be safe, she declared. Filio was dissatisfied. And if I blow hard enough, it'll keep more rain clouds away. He let out a long sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. I'm sorry. Shall we take turns resting while the other keeps watch? If it would make you feel more at ease, Soleil said with a shrug. She shook her bedroll out into a slightly less damp patch of dirt and climbed in. We'll find our path to morrow and be out of here before you know it. Filio didn't say anything, but it sounded like his sister was trying to convince herself just as much as she was him. The forest was eerily quiet as Filio sat on the cart, clutching a crossbow to his chest and puffing on his pipe. Soleila's slow, heavy breathing was the only sound he could focus on, and the flickering, twisting shadows of the tree branches seemed to be toying with him, threatening to grab him and pull him into darkness at any chance. His watch passed restlessly but uneventfully, and after a handful of hours he shook Soleilo awake, who groggily agreed to keep watch. And with that, Filio curled up into as small a ball as he could with his gangly orcish body, ducking his head completely under the covers for extra comfort. The fluttering lights of the torch circled, just barely penetrating the fabric and his eyelids. As he fell into an uneasy sleep, he dreamt of being a child again. He and Soleila and their friends were playing dragons in gold. Filio was hidden under one of the large plush blankets from home, the down between the layers giving it a lumpy look on its own, helping to hide the young orc from the seeking eyes of his friends. There was a creak of wood as the door swung open and Filio held his breath, holding still as possible. A friend, he couldn't tell who, crept into the room, walking on tiptoes. No, there must have been multiple of them as the tip tap tip tap of footsteps didn't match up. With one pair of legs, not even two. There was a pressure as the feet stepped on the blanket, barely missing Filio's leg. Another step, this time just to the left of his stomach. A third one next to his head, a fourth, a fifth, and still more. How amazing. They haven't found me yet, he thought gleefully to himself. The feet began to walk forward, walking over him, casting the slightest shadow. A thin face, stringy hair, and more arms than any friend he knew. His stomach dropped. He could barely think over the pounding of his heart in his ears. The shadow above him, whatever it was, finally moved away completely. He continued to hold his breath, feeling dizzy, but wanting to remain undetected. Silence. Once again a scream interrupted his momentary relief. Soleila Filio awoke with a start, tangled in his bedroll. His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burst, his lungs frozen as he tried to remain still. Listening. Listening for anything. Perhaps it had been a dream. The sound of something heavy being dragged through the mud suggested otherwise. Through his heartbeat. In his ears there was a muffled cry. Move. Move. She's in trouble. Move. His limbs were frozen. The dragging sound grew quieter, more distant. Tears pricked his eyes as he willed himself to climb out and see what was happening. So leah needs you. Get up and save her. His limbs were led, the air stuck in his lungs. I'm not the hero. I'm just the seamster. The seamster. Her brother. Enough. He whispered to himself. Breathquaking, he clawed his way out, writhing out of the cocoon he had made himself, welcoming the cold night air across his skin. As he emerged, something filled his mouth and covered his eyes. Something silky and sticky, spitting and peeling. Filio pulled the strands away from his face just in time to see Soleila slowly being dragged beyond the torchlight. Silk bound her arms together, not like the silks he was used to, but long strands of reflective web. A wound on her cheek bled ever so slightly and her eyes were wide in fear, locking momentarily with her brothers. And then she was gone. Stunned into silence, Filio scrambled out of his bedroll, snapping strands of webbing to free himself. He ran to the cart and grabbed his crossbow and whipped around, looking for any other signs of creatures in the area. He approached the line of the circle of torches. Mud and dirt compacted where Soleila had been dragged. Wherever she was now, she was too far to see. He would have to go after her, into the night and away from the light. The moon, the only light beyond the circle of torches, was muted, blocked by low hanging clouds. If I take a torch with me, I'll be seen coming. Moonlight it was. He turned back to look at the meager camp. Threads of webs strung across the cart, the ground, his and Soleil's bedrolls. The way the strands hung looking like wool on a loom draped over with more precision than he first saw it covered the clearing, winding round and round towards the creature's prey. What he had originally seen as haphazard, he realized, was a weave of its own. The mother of night. It had to be. Filio's bedroll was near the edge of the torch circle the mother had passed over him, covering him in webs of her own. It only made sense that if he were to wrap himself in them again, he could remain hidden. Grabbing some of the longer strands and pulling them free, Filio began to wrap the webbing around his arms and chest and legs. He took a deep breath and stepped beyond the torchlight. Many people, when hearing the stories of the cleric of light and the hope weaver, disregard Filio as a hero. For he didn't wield a sword or shield. He didn't harness magic with prowess, nor was he remarkably cunning. But what they fail to recognize is the weaver's ability to turn discomfort into comfort and most importantly, fear into hope. As he traveled the moonlit path, his fingers twisted around the threads, wrapping his limbs, and he began to weave. While he focused solely on following his sister's path, his hands acted with a mind of their own, and before too long, the webs had been woven into a loose cloak. Filio pulled it up over his head against the cool night air and braved a look above. This part of the forest, like their small camp, was covered in webs, though these strings were twisting and spiraling, creating a funnel in the long hollow of a felled tree. It was still and dark, and from the cavernous hollow ahead, a haunting, humming melody found its way to his ears. The lines from the song in saith nalor echoed in Filio's mind. The mother sings her lullaby. There was no time for hesitation. Soleil needed him. He loaded his crossbow, wincing slightly at the slide and clunk of the bolt locking into place. But the hollow remained still. Filio crept toward the entrance of the hollow. His foot caught on one of the webs, sending him sprawling. The humming abruptly stopped. Filio curled beneath his cobweb cloak, holding his breath. No footsteps approached, and after a moment, the humming started again. Terrified, but inspired, Filio had an idea. He carefully leaned against the tree, just barely to the side of the opening. He lined up his shot and let his bolt fly, piercing a web, snapping it and sending vibrations through the rest of the webs in the clearing. He immediately spun and tucked into the side of the tree, hoping that the webbed cloak on his back was enough to let the mother's gaze pass him by quietly from the back of the tree, the crunch of leaves underfoot, began slowly approaching. Filio's heart was in his throat and he held his breath. Movement from the corner of his eye as something large moved from the webbed tunnel. The figure stalled in the entrance and after a moment its eight long, spindly legs crept toward where the bolt had torn the web and as a thing in the edge of his vision, walked further. The seamster steeled himself and slipped into the dark hollow. He kept as low to the ground as possible, hoping to move quickly and quietly. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see large bundles of web dangling from the ceiling, tucked into nooks in the wood and laying in beds of dried leaves. The stench of death and rotten flesh overwhelmed his senses and his eyes watered. He blinked it away, carrying onward. He had to get to the end. He had to get to his sister. And tucked away in the very back of the hollow, still writhing and twitching, lay the partially bound Soleila. Filio risked a quick glance back to the entrance and, seeing nothing there, ran over to his sister. He began to pull and tear at the cobwebs, trying to free her as quickly as possible. Don't panic. It's okay. I'm getting you out, he whispered, and his hands trembled as he worked. Can't move, she mumbled through gritted teeth. Bit some kind of toxin. Okay, not a problem. Filio's palms were sweaty. I'll just drag you out of here and we'll be fine. Solea's eyes seemed to have a tough time tracking him as he worked at the strands, knife, and belt. Cut it. Ophelio nodded in understanding and loosed his sister's dagger from its sheath on her hip and began cutting through the strands that connected her to the other webs. Satisfied, he grabbed her around her torso and began dragging his sister toward the mouth of the hollow. As he moved, he was almost painfully aware of everything around him. The stench of the bundles, the sticky, wispy feeling of webs on his arms and just barely under the sound of solea dragging against the ground. The sound of eight light footsteps through the brushy foliage. She was back. Filio grabbed his sister, turning her so the webs all along her back faced outward, trying to disguise her as just another lifeless bound corpse. He pulled the hood of his makeshift cloak over his head as far down as it would go, praying it would be enough. A large silhouette made its way through the hollow around thorax, almost armored in a glossy carapace that reflected what scant moonlight could pierce the trees and the torso of a woman extending up from the front, her hair, partially done up, held in place by webs and stringy locks of hair and loose cobwebs, swayed gently as her spindly legs moved her closer. Closer. She pulled some kind of shawl over her shoulders against the chill of the night air, mere yards away from where Filio clutched his sister to his chest, still as stone. As she grew closer, he could differentiate her features from the rest of the dark interior. A gaunt, pale face, pitch black eyes, eight of them, blinking lazily of their own accord, creating a ring around her face. She let out a wheezing sigh, exposing sharp, needle like teeth, and though her eyes faced the siblings'corner, she glided past them without pause. Felio waited a brief moment, giving her a bit of room. He tried to calm his breathing and slowly sat forward, creeping to his feet again. He grabbed his sister as best he could, dragging her towards the entrance. But between the fearful glances to the mother and the pale face of his sister, he neglected to see a low strung web just inches above the ground. His heel caught, sending him sprawling and knocking his head against the rotten wall like the twang of a loot. The plucked string vibrated and soon all of the draped cobwebs shook, just barely within sight. The mother straightened her back, called to attention, and her thin legs scrambled for purchase as she twisted herself around. Filio Solea had rolled away from him, facing the mother, not knowing her brother was still there. I'm here, he groaned, the throbbing in his head causing his vision to swim. He rolled over onto his front, trying to scramble towards his sister, the mother moving quicker than anything as large as she should be able to let out a crying hiss. Something faint caught the sea mister's eyes. A glint of something in what little moonlight could enter the hollow Soleila's drop of sunlight. He dove for his sister, grabbing the amulet around her neck and pushing it to her hand. He closed her fist around it, praying to a God that wasn't even his own to spare them. From beneath their clenched fists, a spark flashed to life, light bleeding through their skin and bone. It was as if the light had a force of its own as it burst forth, exploding into radiant daylight. Filio's eyes watered, but he dared not close them. The mother, this giant half spider half woman, was all but on top of them now. She shrieked and she recoiled from the sudden flare, turning her face away as gnarled, pincer like hands slashed through the air, just missing the siblings. Get us out. Soleila's eyes burned into her brothers this was their opening. Filio grabbed his sister once more and ran towards the entrance of the hollow. The afterimages of the burst of light darkened his vision as he stumbled through woven webs with abandon. No sense in trying to hide now. The two burst into the cold night air, and Filio turned to see the enormous fallen tree. He had to do something to keep the mother from following them. Soleia tried to push him forward. What are you doing? Keep going. Just keep running. Filio released his sister and stumbled back toward the tree, scrambling in his pockets for his trusty lighter. He ran as hard as he could, mud caking his feet. Slowing his step, he clicked the wheel, sparking a flame, and knelt down, the webs catching almost immediately like candle wicks. He lunged towards another mess of cobwebs, reigniting his lighter with a click and the smell of butane. The flames crawled towards the hollow, growing and catching more on the way. One more ought to do it. He ran toward the center, finding a large mass of spooled web, and the flames burst to life mere feet away. The face of the mother protruded from the hollow needle, teeth bared and foaming. You. She hissed. Her arms extended out to grab him as he scrambled back. You took my meal. With an undignified yelp, Filio threw his lighter, hitting her square in one of her larger eyes. She cried out and stumbled backwards, legs becoming entangled in her own net. The flames crept along the webbing. Hungry for fuel, Filio turned and ran towards his sister and began dragging her once more through the mud. The dark night in the forest began to brighten. The hollow tree was an inferno. Howls of rage and agony bled through the crumbling, burning walls of the hollow. The mother having retreated into her den. Filio could run no longer. He and his sister collapsed on the ground, and together they watched the mother's den burn to ash. [01:06:16] Speaker A: In the laws of the universe lie stories untold, and through only their tellers do tales unfold. With paper and pen still in their hand, our authors have noted one final command. May this Tome never close and its ink never dry. May all tales be penned on each page. May truth sly, may the Cosmo's final score never be written. As beyond the stars mortals hear composition with feats of bold heroes now scrawled and dance. Thus continues the world of the inked expanse. [01:06:55] Speaker C: Hello listeners, this is Ben. 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