#how did the spirit realm change to reflect her heart

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow Day 6

Shadow Beast

The Twilight Princess fan in me really came out on this one huh? I blame the sleep deprivation. We never quite addressed the effects of the Twili Magic on Twilight and how it's only sheer force of will and the fact he's so darn kind, Midna's influence and Time teaching him the Song of Healing first being the main factor in making sure he doesn't fall huh? Even more so than the One Cutscene. We also need to talk more about the fact we technically kill Midna's people and how by the end of it all Twi is so changed by the Twilight Realm who's it's own can of worms that, much like Time he can't quite go home as himself me thinks, as a treat to myself

Mostly Twilight x Reader, this goes out to all of the folks who never quite recovered from Twilight Princess and the fact we never got that sequel (I mean it gave us BOTW and TOTK and Wild, but at what cost?), but can be read as Link x Reader either on the platonic or romantic.

Don't think there's any warning this time but might edit later if needed.

Actually yeah there is one warning

TW:

References to body horror typical to Twilight Princess, though I recommend not reading it I'd you're squeamish period.

Even after so long, you and Twilight could still remember the beauty and solemnity of the Twilight Realm, with it’s zircon skies with clouds of trapped fire and rains of viper obsidian.

The silence of the infection upon the realm of light broken only by the echoes of the howling elegy of the Twili and Interlopers who came before creeping over the land like rot and wither over flowers, the lament of the lost spirits of the people and animals of Hyrule falling over your spirit like a shroud, a shared hymm from two worlds reality had been twisted, only both of it’s princess, one filled the luster of empyreal sorrow in her mind and one with the scorch abyssal fury in her heart knowing to see the reflective tragedy befallen to their people. With Link as the one who restored the memory of what once was in both worlds as divinity and calamity sang in his bones and you a witness to the restoration of harmony to the discordant symphony, the two different songs of light and shadow refusing to let go of either of you in an eternal duet.

(Once touched by magic, it shall never leave the one if holds onto Twilight may have been the one with the Beast in his soul, with the howl of a wolf, the bite of shades in his veins and the lament of innocents taking precedence over anything purely because he learned how to silence the whispers of the one’s who made a grab for heaven’s throat and we’re pushed in the cracks of reality for their prideful vánitas even as he could taste it in the back of his tongue, twining around his ribs and overgrowing into his shattered mirror heart like vines, flowering with the divinity and eternal nature of the Hero’s Spirit, already having the hunt of the Fierce Deity in it’s veins and the remains of cursed divinity welcoming the new aspect merrily so he could bear it. The song of the innocent wrongly punished among the sinners rang into your mind, scratched at your skin and dug it’s claws around your throat, chocking you with sorrow and regret, more willing to leave gouges than to let go of someone’s who’s looked into the reverse side of the sacred realm and wept with grief for it’s people and the curse of it’s beauty.

It would never leave you, Link or Zelda, who learned who love the darkness the way Midna did, madness and unsightly delight and all.)

While the people of Hyrule merely became trapped as observers at best, if they were lucky, Midna’s raging grief and resentment quickly became obvious, once she revealed that rotten Zant had done to her and her people, twisted into a new form, distorted in body and trapped in mind like the animals and beasts of Hyrule, their pain driving them in becoming feral attack hounds for the usurper, their howling screams as much sorrow, wailing in an attempt to let their agonized, tortured souls to escape from it’s mouth, a futile attempt to flee from the strain of reality forgetting their true form in favor of Zant’s twisted design, of being used as sentient canvases for cruelty and ruthlessness, of their will being stepped over in favor of corrupting recreation.

Of how it only didn’t quaff down at Midna’s mind because of the nature of her ephemerality, fully beloved by the Realm of Darkness, of how she loathed him for it and wouldn’t wish her fate of that of her people’s on any living or dead soul, once she came to love the Realm of Light through Zelda’s sacrifice.

Which was why, when you saw three of the victims of the telltale twisting from darkness utilized with the intent to drive one insane, a familiar looking plate of stone engraved on the remains of ashes from their identity, the curling of distorted, solid darkness making crooked mishapen manes, bent out of shape from their too long torso and long, long arms adorned with twitching, deformed claws, you feel very justified in way your blood froze, holding onto Wild’s arms and yanking with all you had so his shot will miss, his yelp of surprise swallowed by the bone cracking, blood curdling screech from one of the beasts as a Skyward Strike grazed it’s petrified flesh.

You feel something warm drip down your ears, taste the promise of violence and the cry of lost souls on the back of your tongue and swallow it down as the memory of the Twilight Realm attempted to bite and crack your ribcage to quaff down your heart, to devour it bones and all, calling out in desperation, “Don’t! That’s a person!”

Sky freezes, as still as a statue, Legend curses the heavens crimson in a way you are so glad Wind isn’t around to hear as he retreats Twilight snarls, the wolf in him revolted and disgusted, you wonder if the Twilight is singing in his mind too as he restrains himself from reaching for the crystal as nails just a tad too sharp invite droplets of blood to one hand, grimm as a graveyard “We need to get them together anyway, felling just one won’t be enough.”

You grimace, releasing Wild, keeping your eye on the Shadow Beasts and another on your group, pointedly not mentioning the twitch in Four, amethyst clouding his gaze and the prism of his eyes turning gray with memories you and Twilight both knew all too well, of the grimace in Time’s otherwise stony countenance, you’d wished to avoid bloodshed of whoever was turned against their will, but you and Twilight both knew that might not be possible, death, unfortunately, might be the greatest mercy you can grant these poor souls.

(The Twilight is harmonizing in your ears, jeering, you feel the Interlopers insanity and the Twili’s lament on your teeth. As lovely as it could be cruel, the merry feeling upon meeting, the sorrow at a parting.

If you ever see the Shadow, you might just try indulging the echo by offering it’s blood as tribute. You'd make it hurt. The fact it learned the spell used to deform reality in such a way was cruel and vile.)

“Legend, how is your magic?” shoots Warriors, analyzing, calculating, it snaps the purple back into Four’s gaze, brings his mind back to focus as he reaches into his inventory for his Moon Pearl, Twilight is circling the beasts with single minded purpose, herding them together and prowling as he would as a wolf, Wild thankfully listened to your warning and had switched from the more destructive Flame and Lightning Arrows to ice ones. It doesn’t contain them for long but it gives a few precious seconds to strategize.

Legend catches on, switching to the Ice Rod on one hand and grasping his own Moon Pearl with the other, Sky has another Skyward Strike ready, but doesn’t release it, you switch from your sword to accepting a Magic Rod tossed at you from Wild, “Good enough.”

You breath in shakily, the symphony of the Twilight Realm has quieted, more lament than anthem as it’s Hero steps back, returning to your side, he nods grimly, “... Then, let’s end this quickly.”

You know your will boys will do their best to heal them, and failing that, you hope that they’ll hear the requiem of the Twili rather than the lament once they’re at peace, that they'll find some form of threnody.

It is a horrible thing, to be forced to die as a beast.

[wareagleofthemountain]

What Do You Know of Love? (Part 2)

A/N: I’ve decided to do a part 3 as well from Tauriel’s pov. Coming soon. Enjoy!

See parts 1 and 3

Tags: @sotwk, @coopsgirl

The cause of the maryment resounding through the normally somber halls of the Mirkwood king was Yenearsira, the Winter Solstice. Marking the elvish new year.

Thranduil spent the rest of the morning seeing to his appearance, taking more care than usual to soothe every wrinkle from his robe and comb every freshly washed strand of his hair into place. He looked at his reflection approvingly in the mirror as he slowly adorned his legendary headpiece. The branches framing his cheekbones were now barren save for patches of tiny blue and white blossoms sprouting spontaneously throughout them. It was why his people treasured the crown so much, as it allowed them a small glimpse of the former beauty of their homeland.

Now, the trees were too sick to change in the seasons, and the forest had become too hostile for the migrating birds and elk to make it their haven in the Spring. The only creatures who dared take up residence in his dying land were the black ravens that cawed from the tree tops and the foul, massive spiders who made their webs in the dark caves. Even so, the snow still fell in thick sheets upon the ground.

After taking a moment to gather himself, the Elvenking deposited the necklace into the deep front pocket of his robe and strode out of his chamber to bless the festivities, signifying their beginning. Feren met him at the closed double doors that were the entrance to his throne room. For holidays, the space was cleared out to make way for the long banquet tables filled with food and a small stage that held the minstrels. At the end of the meal, the tables would be pushed back and the floor would be given to the eager dancers. At exactly midnight, the elves of Mirkwood would all gather out in the gardens and release fireworks high into the dark Winter sky.

Thranduil fixed his guard with a disapproving stare as he noticed Feren’s hands shaking as he passed Thranduil his ceremonial staff. “nervousness is not a good look on a soldier who bears the crest of the Woodland Realm.”

“Your grace…” Feren tried, but Thranduil pushed the door open before he could finish. All chatter in the room stilled, and heads bowed respectfully to their monarch. But Thranduil was not looking at them. His eyes were narrowed at the steps leading up to his throne in the distance… and at the smaller seat just to the left of it. Gifts and flowers had been left upon it by the festival goers. It was a tradition, he knew, to honor late members of the royal house at holiday gatherings, especially those following wartime such as this. It helped keep their spirit alive in the hearts of their subjects, and the gifts acted as a sort of offering to the deceased royal so they may aid the spirits of the recently fallen soldiers on their journey to the Halls of Mandos. The same tribute had been paid to his father long ago, during the dinner of Thranduil’s coronation. He recalled his wife herself had even placed a pearl necklace atop the former king’s throne for the safe passage of her older brother Ailwe, who perished on the fields of Mordor in Thranduil’s arms. Though he was a dear friend and loyal soldier, Thranduil did not cry. Nor did he shed a tear for his father. Thranduil never cried.

However, seeing that seat, void of the smiling elleth who had held his hand to calm him in fits of rage and sent amusing images through ósanwe to help break up the dullness of back to back council meetings made an insurmountable lump appear in his throat. He loved their bond. How, even when it seemed to outsiders like the two hardly spoke to each other in public, they’d take every opportunity to find rest in their private mental sanctuary where the troubles of the world could not get to them. Without her warm presence running over his fae, it felt cold and hollow like the hole left in the ground by a tree that had been pulled out by its roots. Continuing his slow strides up to his throne, eyes purposefully avoiding the seat to his left, the Elvenking gave the ancient prayer of goodwill and took the first sip from the first glass of wine poured that night, signaling the official start to the Elvish New Year celebration.

Only staying as long as was customary, Thranduil slipped out of the secret back exit of his throne room to be met by an apologetic Feren.

Eyes blazing, the king tried to keep his voice neutral. “I thought I ordered that throne destroyed years ago.”

“My lord, we tried, but the council insisted we keep it on hand for these occasions. It’s tradition…”

“Last I checked, it is I who gives the final say. Now get rid of it!” Came Thranduil’s retort.

“You’re not the only one who lost her, sire…”

The words escaped his lips before his mind could think better of it, and the next thing Feren knew his back was roughly pinned against the stone wall. Thranduil’s hand encircled his throat and pressed down with just enough force to let this insubordinate know that his words would not be tolerated. For a moment, Feren feared the king might actually strike him, but instead Thranduil shattered his empty wine glass on the wall right above his head. Without another word, he strode away, leaving a wide eyed Feren to stare at his retreating back.

Perhaps the biting cold should have bothered Thranduil more than it did, but his thick robes and knee-high boots proved capable of warding it off. That and the blazing anger he felt running through his veins. How dare he? How dare that lowly foot soldier tell him how to deal with his wife’s passing? He did not know her even a fraction as well as Thranduil did! If he had, he would understand how impossible it is to let such a light go. Thranduil loathed the idea of sharing her memories with his people. They were all he had left of her.

Without giving his direction much conscious thought, Thranduil looked up to find himself standing at the entrance to his realm.

“Your majesty, I did not think to see you here.” Came the voice of Cardon, one of Mirkwood’s border guards, as he leapt soundlessly from a tree and bowed low to his ruler.

Thranduil granted the young elf a polite nod and motioned him to return to his feet. “Take leave of your post for about an hour. You are dismissed.”

Cardon was no doubt curious as to why Thranduil would request such a thing, but knew enough about his king’s ill temper not to argue. Giving a shallow bow, he took his leave.

Once he was sure he was alone, Thranduil began searching for the object of his Winter escapade. It took him a while to find the statue, it having been covered up by decades of overgrown vines and now the falling snow. He hurriedly removed his sword from his belt and began cutting away the obstructions to reveal a beautiful face of marble. Tears froze on his lashes at the sight of his wife’s memorial being utterly forgotten in such a way. He gently caressed the statue’s cheek with his fingertips.

“I am so sorry, my love. I did not intend for it to be so long between visits…” He gave pause. It truly had been a long time since he had ventured this far away from his palace, and even longer since he had dared to gaze upon the statue. Thranduil had it built shortly after his queen's death. It was not a true grave, but a symbol of all she was to him and their people. Guardian of the realm and his heart.

Reaching into his pocket, Thranduil slowly, reverently, clasped the white diamonds around the statue’s neck. Standing back, he smiled.

It was a poor compensation for the moment that was stolen from him… but it was enough.

He still recalled the night, not at all unlike this one, when having the necklace created for her first graced his mind. She had dragged him away from the warmth of the palace into the cold forest, an action he found rather treasonous at the time.

“Where are we going that’s so important? We’ll miss the fireworks.” The young Prince grumbled, pulling his thick cloak tighter around his frame.

“To the stars!” The elleth walking in front of him turned her head to give a playful wink. Thranduil tried to be annoyed, but he secretly loved her ability to make life an adventure. Her smile disarmed him and he couldn’t help pulling her to him and kissing her firmly.

“How much further? I fear if we’re gone any longer your brother will think I’ve thrown you in prison.”

She giggled. “What reason would you have for doing that, my Prince?”

“Exposing me to the elements for one. And for two, making me leave my wine glass behind. It is a very expensive vintage and I doubt there’ll be any left upon my return.”

“I promise it’s worth it.” She clasped his hand, still somehow warm, and her voice was sure.

He followed her to a snow covered field that was empty save for the trees with blue blossoms on them. There was a look of wonder in her eyes as she caught tiny snowflakes in her palm, only maintaining their shape for a moment before melting away on the heat of her skin. Thranduil hummed in slight amusement, stepping forward and gently brushing the frost from her lashes with the pad of his thumb.

“You are like the changing of the seasons; vexing and untamable. But each aspect of you lovely in its own way.” He looked down at the moisture spreading on the sleeve of his cloak from the snow. “What is your fascination with the cold, dear one?”

“Mm…” She thought for a moment before meeting his eyes. “The earth hibernates under her armor of snow every Winter. The death in Autumn, when the trees give their final show of gracefully letting go of that which no longer serves them, is concealed from view to be reborn in the Spring. A new beginning. That is why we celebrate the turning of the new year.”

She turned and smiled off into the distance. “Until then, we get to live in a world covered in white light as bright as the eternal stars themselves.”

“Where are you going?” Thranduil called after her as she began climbing a nearby tree.

The elleth smiled down at him as she grabbed hold of a vine and swung over his head, reaching her hand out to him. “On our wedding day, I said I’d give you the stars if I could, and the falling snowflakes are the closest thing we’re going to get on earth. Come!”

Thranduil, amazed, took hold of the vine and they swung amid the falling stars there in the calmness of the seemingly mundane forest clearing. Laughing, Thranduil pulled them up into a tree and they caught snowflakes on their tongues.

“Look!” He pointed out the fireworks visible from the palace, their vantage point granting them an excellent view. They entwined their fingers and Thranduil pulled her under his cloak to keep her warm.

“You’ll own the very stars. I’ll see to that meleth nin.”

He was pulled from his reverie as he sensed a presence behind him. It was Tauriel. King and subject briefly locked eyes, if only long enough for some unspoken understanding to pass between them, before walking silently back to the palace side by side. Thranduil chanced one last look at the statue, the gems now glowing as they caught the moonlight. Indeed, it was beautiful… but lifeless. Her true memory was living. Living in the hearts of their subjects, in the falling snow that came every year, forever in his soul, and in the eyes of their son…

Methrandir’s words came crashing back to him, “Those gems were not all your wife left you, my friend. She left you a son. Tell me, which would she have you value more?”

After all this time, Thranduil finally knew he’d figured out the right answer.

[sharri-byfaith]

Finding Light Amidst Darkness: My experience into Street Ministry to Prostitutes.

As I sit down to write this, my heart feels heavy yet strangely uplifted. Engaging in street ministry to prostitutes was an experience unlike any other—a rollercoaster of emotions, reflections, and profound encounters with humanity. It's an experience that has left me feeling both shattered and whole, conflicted yet resolute in my purpose.

At first, when I was approached I was hesitant, but I embarked on this journey with a sense of duty, a desire to be obedient through faith, a desire to offer support and compassion to those trapped in the cycles of addiction, poverty, and exploitation. Little did I know, it would unravel layers of my own struggles, forcing me to confront my deepest fears and insecurities.

Walking the streets, I encountered faces etched with pain, eyes devoid of hope, and souls yearning for something more. Each encounter tugged at my heartstrings, forcing me to confront my own vulnerabilities. It made me question my own worthiness, my own battles with self-doubt and loneliness.

Yet, amidst the darkness, there were moments of profound light. Simple acts of kindness—a warm smile, a gentle touch,a warm meal, a listening ear—had the power to ignite a spark of hope in the hearts of these women. They reminded me that despite their circumstances, they were still human beings deserving of love and dignity.

Stepping into the realm of street ministry to prostitutes was akin to venturing into uncharted territory—a journey fueled by curiosity, tinged with apprehension, yet brimming with a fervent desire to make a difference. As I embarked on this path for the first time, little did I know that it would be a transformative experience, one that would leave an indelible mark on my heart and soul.

Nervously navigating the dimly lit streets, I found myself surrounded by a world veiled in shadows—a world inhabited by individuals whose stories remained untold, whose voices remained unheard. My heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as we approached each woman, unsure of what to expect, I myself unsure of how to bridge the chasm between us.

One particular encounter stands out vividly in my memory. I met a young woman named Maria*, her spirit crushed by years of exploitation and abuse. As we spoke, her holding back the tears, I felt a surge of empathy unlike anything I had experienced before. In that moment, I saw beyond the facade of her struggles and recognized her innate worth as a human being. It was a humbling realization that shattered my preconceived notions and biases.

As we spoke, a sense of connection blossomed between us, transcending the barriers of circumstance and judgment. She shared with me her dreams, her fears, her struggles—a raw and unfiltered glimpse into her world. And in listening, truly listening, I realized the profound power of empathy—the ability to see oneself in the eyes of another, to recognize our shared humanity amidst the disparities that divide us.In that moment, I understood that street ministry was not merely about offering assistance or providing solutions—it was about bearing witness to the inherent worth of every individual, about affirming their dignity in a world that often seeks to diminish it. It was about showing up, with a heart open to the possibility of connection, of transformation, of love, of salvation.

As I walked away from that encounter, my heart brimming with a newfound sense of purpose, I knew that I had taken the first step on a journey of discovery—a journey that will challenge me, inspire me, and ultimately, change me. For in reaching out to others, I found a piece of myself—a piece that has long lay dormant, waiting to be awakened by the simple act of showing up and bearing witness to the beauty of the human spirit.

In serving these women, I found a sense of purpose greater than myself. Their resilience in the face of adversity inspired me to confront my own demons with courage and determination.

They taught me that despite the darkness that surrounds us, there is always room for compassion, forgiveness, and redemption.Yet, amidst the profound moments of connection, there were also moments of profound despair.

The weight of their struggles felt suffocating, leaving me feeling helpless and overwhelmed. It was during these moments that I questioned my own capacity to make a difference, to alleviate their pain, to bring about lasting change.

And then, amidst the turmoil of my own emotions, I was reminded of a simple truth—that other people matter. In the midst of my own heartache and loss, the struggles of these women seemed infinitely larger, yet their capacity to love and to hope and to flash a smile and remain steadfast in their belief that things will get better remained undiminished. It was a sobering reminder of the resilience of the human spirit and the power of love through the fire of the Holy spirit to transcend even the darkest of circumstances.

*Note: The name "Maria" is a fictional name used to protect the identity of the individual.

- Sharri Van Zyl

- 23/03/2024

[calechipconecrimes]

Kelyia strode up the length of the crowded throne room to kneel before the king who had summoned her. She was famous throughout the realm for her ferocity in battle, making a name for herself as a blade for hire to fight in the Kingdoms' petty wars. She was known as the Blade of Fortune, for any army that marched with her was sure to win, and the exorbitant prices royals paid for her services.

She was now in the palace of King Hulnor II of Gyurna, the Recluse Kingdom. The mountain kingdom was secluded, being only accessible by crossing the northern passes in summer or by traveling around the ranges that surround the kingdom and entering from the southeast. As a result, it was not a common stop on the tradeways, nor usually a participant in the wars that are fought constantly across the rest of the continent, and therefore had never asked for Kelyia's service. The people and structures reflected this fact, showing little embellishment and even less luxury at every level, including the elite and the royal. Her paladin's armor seemed inappropriate in such an ascetic atmosphere.

Not sure of the proper etiquette to use in this strange place, Kelyia chose to begin first. "My king, I am the one they call the Blade of Fortune, Kelyia Hevensdaughter, who you summoned. I know not your customs. I implore you to forgive any queerness I may exhibit," she led hesitantly.

The king smiled kindly and replied in a thick Gyurnan accent, "You are forgiven." A translator beside the throne spoke in the Gyurnan tongue to the gathered nobles, repeating the conversation for their benefit. "I have summoned you here because there is a matter that may require your expertise in combat. News has recently reached our kingdom of the missing Princess Lenyri of Morredaun, and the reward promised for whoever can find her and return her to her mother."

Kelyia's ears perked up at the sound of the Princess's name, which she had not heard spoken in years, since the search for her had died down after no one could find her. "Your Majesty, you have surely also heard of the impossibility of the quest! When that was first decreed almost nine years ago, every king, lord, knight, and slave searched for any sign of her," she said quickly. Her face went red as she realized she had interrupted without thought.

"So we have been told," the king said, "but we have also been told of how a dragon spirited her away in the night to his lair. You shall receive one- no, two-thirds of the reward money if you can journey into the Drakelands, recover the Princess, and bring her back."

"Your Majesty, this is an impossible task! No human has ever ventured into the Drakelands and returned!" she protested.

"The impossible becomes more possible with every day, from what I hear. There are stories from the Eastern Edge of men changing their forms and even calling flame from the air. An offensive stands at the Western Edge to claim a corridor to the Great Waters."

Kelyia did not have the heart to tell him that the Eastern Edge was notorious for embellishing stories and the Western Offensive had ground to a halt two years into the campaign.

"My Lord, these are true, but I cannot justify sending men and women to die for a cause that may already be lost. If she is alive, the Princess has resided with the dragons for nigh on nine years. She will certainly be either more difficult to find than a needle in ten haystacks or be so accustomed she may not wish to leave," Kelyia said.

The king's brow darkened as he leaned forward. "We find the abduction of a beloved noble by barbarian creatures very disturbing. As should you, since you are pledged to the Order, are you not? If there is a small chance that she may be alive and able to be rescued, we are willing to take that chance."

"I...." Kelyia sighed. "I am honorbound to pursue her. I will leave the morning after tomorrow, once I have had the chance to rest and resupply."

The king sat back and smiled again. "You will be given a room in the guest wing. Ten of my best soldiers and trackers will accompany you on your quest. I will await your return eagerly."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Kelyia managed as a servant led her away.

Later, in her room when she was sure she was alone, Kelyia took a small dish and a bottle of purified spring water from her bag and set them on a small table. She muttered a communication spell and poured the water into the dish. "Father," she whispered into the still pool. Before her eyes, her reflection morphed into the image of her father's face, a smiling man with a graying beard and wrinkles creeping around his eyes and forehead.

"Father! I did not expect you to be at the dish already!" Kelyia exclaimed.

"I just finished scrying with my general on the Western Offensive," he said. Behind him, Kelyia could make out the ceiling of her parents' room at their Morredaun country estate.

"I take it that the Offensive goes well?"

"If by 'well' you mean 'no change,' then yes."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I scried to tell you that I've reached Gyurna and had my audience with King Hulnor."

Kelyia's father smiled again and said, "That's good! What did he summon you for?"

"He wanted me to go into the Drakelands to find ... me!" Kelyia said, barely holding back her laughter. Her father burst into roaring laughter, throwing back his head and squeezing shut his eyes. Kelyia joined him as quietly as she could.

When he regained his composure, he wiped away a tear and said, "That's the best thing I've heard in years! You've got to tell this story next time you're home!" His face fell when he saw the serious expression his daughter wore. "You didn't accept the assignment, did you?"

"I did not want to, Father. He used my honor as a member of the Order to twist my arm. I'm afraid I must leave the day after tomorrow for the Drakelands."

"That's a death sentence!" he exploded. "Why, I've never heard such foolishness since King Nubos suggested the Western Offensive! It's an outrage! A- A-"

"Father. I know."

"I'll go with you. I'll join your party and speak on your behalf."

Kelyia's eyes widened. "Father, no! You are still exiled! Even in your human shape, the Grand Drakes will not listen to you! You'll be imprisoned in stone, or worse!"

"Those serpents would never. Not to one of their own."

"Are you sure? You have not spoken to another dragon in over two hundred years!"

"I know them well enough from my youth. I was the only one with any sort of horns."

"And what became of those?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, where his mane of hair covered the brand that marked him a draconic exile.

"I appreciate your concern for me, but I can't let you throw your life away. Besides, King Hulnor is sending ten of his best with me," Kelyia said.

He sighed. "Your mother won't like this."

"She never does." Kelyia bade her father farewell and spoke the disconnection spell. She sat at the scrying dish for a long time before discarding the used water and preparing for bed. She was going to have a very long journey to prepare for.

After a series of misunderstandings, a dragonborn paladin of noble birth is sent on a quest to save the lost princess (herself) from a vicious dragon (also herself).

[guideoftime]

sage of shadows.

   Sheik’s decision to become the Sage of Shadows was entirely linked to Princess Zelda and Link and his emotional / mental place with them. Initially, right after waking back up ten years old, Sheik had struggled immensely. Overwhelmed with the memories, his body not responding how he needed it to, it led him to be reckless. His tiny body was unable to handle the adult emotions crushing through him and it led to him lashing out. He picked fights, primarily with the guards, took his anger out on training and breaking things in Impa’s house. He blamed her, he blamed Zelda, it was easier to blame everyone around him until that anger eventually focused inward on himself. 

   Eventually, when the anger settled and he was left with only his thoughts and memories that anger turned to guilt and self-hatred. His problems with how he handled the journey with Link, his problems with being unable to help Zelda now, all of it piled up inside him and he felt a bit like it was crushing him. He tried though, he did try to live a normal life. Because that was what they had fought for, it’s what Link sacrificed for, and to immediately give up felt like an insult to all of that. So he tried to stand beside Zelda, to be the Queensguard and a Sheikah Warrior. 

   But it really wasn’t meant for him. Sheik is a restless person, he constantly is on edge, looking over his shoulder and worrying. He’s reckless with his own life, overconfident in fighting, he willingly gives too much of himself for his duty to the Royal Family and that isn’t something he can just turn off. Even when Zelda needed him to, even when she needs more of a person than she does a soldier at her side. Sheik could tell she missed Impa, if she didn’t outright say it the way she looked at him expecting someone else did. 

   He went to the Kokiri Forest before he went to the Temple, wanting to see the Hero at least once, and there the Great Deku Tree informed him that Link went to Termina. Link leaving Hyrule entirely, as if he was trying to escape everything, all of them, was a bit of the breaking point. Every connection he had was shattered, every person he knew eventually left, the last thing he could do at the very least to fix any of it was to give Zelda back Impa. So that the Princess could finally have her heart settled and the person that mattered to her most. So that Impa could be free and try to rebuild their Tribe. So that there was some sort of balance to all of this. 

   To Sheik, in the grand scheme of things, his life was far less valuable than the rest of it all and he really had nothing left to live for. 

   So he went to the Shadow Temple, he trekked his way to the Sanctum and he sat there and prayed with the Goddess Harp until someone listened to him. Until he was finally allowed into the Sacred Realm and the Goddesses granted him the chance to change places with Impa. It’s not a decision he regrets, it’s not one he’ll ever regret. He can’t let himself, because there is no taking it back. It’s never something he’ll be able to undo. But more than that, he genuinely believes it was the right decision. The choice that he had to make and should have been from the very beginning. 

   I do believe that once inside the Temples the Sages can’t leave unless they’re replaced (at least in Ocarina of Time) since it seems they become higher beings in some regard. Spirits, at the least, immortal deities on other levels. That seems reflected in most (?) of the games, BOTW/TOTK is the first (that I know) where they seem to function outside the Temples. In (WW) Medli and Makar even say they have to stay there to pray to the Master Sword. So that’s where I go off of that. 

[westcrescent]

 

𝐗𝐈𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐔𝐘𝐔𝐄 & 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐄.

" We’re like the moon and the water— ever connected yet constantly shifting. "  

Ethereal and graceful, in the tranquil waters of the Xiyang God Realm, Canghe's reflection often danced among the moonlit water, his presence a gentle reminder of the celestial magic that surrounded them. Ruyue had known the moonwater prince since childhood, their bond formed in the luminescent gardens where they often met and played with sparklers every new year's eve.

Canghe had a way of bringing lightness to her heart, his playful spirit infectious. Together, they would chase fireflies and whisper secrets to the stars, their laughter echoing through the stillness of the night.

As they grew, the undercurrents of their friendship began to shift. Ruyue felt a flutter in her chest whenever Canghe was near, his presence stirring something deeper within her. She admired his fluid grace and the way he moved through the water as if he were part of it, his essence intertwined with the moon’s glow. Yet, despite the soft spark between them, words of love remained unspoken, a silent tension that danced just out of reach.

“Why do you always look so serious, Ruyue?” Canghe would tease, his eyes sparkling like starlight. “You’re a goddess-in-training! Embrace the joy of being alive!”

She would smile, but beneath her laughter lay the complexity of her feelings. “It’s hard to be carefree when I know what’s expected of me,” she replied, her tone wistful. “But with you, I can forget for a while.”

Their moments together were precious, a sanctuary from the weight of expectations that pressed upon her. They would talk for hours, Canghe’s laughter intertwining with the soft murmur of water, creating a melody that resonated in Ruyue’s heart. Yet, every time she sensed the depth of her feelings, she pulled back, afraid to tarnish their friendship with the uncertainty of romance.

One fateful night, as the moon hung high in the sky, casting silver light over the water, Canghe took her hand, his touch sending ripples of warmth through her. “Ruyue, do you ever wonder what lies beyond friendship?” His voice was low, filled with a sincerity that made her heart race.

Her breath caught in her throat, and the air around them seemed to still. “I… I think about it,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Canghe’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the moon’s glow. “Neither do I. But sometimes, I feel like there’s something more between us.”

Ruyue’s heart ached with longing and fear. She wanted to lean into that connection, to explore the depths of her feelings, but the fear of changing their relationship held her back. “Maybe we should just let things be as they are,” she suggested, though her voice trembled with uncertainty.

He nodded, understanding yet disappointed. “I can respect that. I wish I knew how to tell you how much you mean to me without risking what we have.”

As the night deepened, their hands slowly parted, an invisible barrier growing between them. Ruyue felt a pang of regret, the bittersweet taste of what might have been hanging in the air. They spent the rest of the evening in silence, their hearts full of unspoken words.

As seasons changed, so did their paths. Ruyue focused on her training, learning to embody the strength of the lunar deity, while Canghe remained a spirit of the waters, his existence entwined with the ebb and flow of the tides. Their friendship persisted, yet the underlying tension remained—a delicate thread woven through their shared moments, unacknowledged yet ever-present.

Even as they ventured through their separate journeys, Ruyue would often find herself by the water’s edge, gazing at the moonlit reflections. In those quiet moments, she remembered their laughter, the weight of his hand in hers, and the bittersweet echoes of what they had shared. Though they never crossed the threshold into romance, the love they felt lingered like a gentle breeze, a reminder of the beauty that existed in the delicate balance between friendship and something more.

Years later, as Ruyue stood on the banks of the shimmering lake, she caught sight of Canghe, his form illuminated by the moonlight. He smiled at her, a familiar spark in his eyes, and in that instant, she knew their bond was unbreakable. They had navigated the currents of their emotions and emerged with a friendship that was both profound and bittersweet—a testament to the love that thrived in the spaces between words.

"If it isn't Xiyang Ruyue."

"Canghe." she smiled, a sigh slipped pass her lips, shoulders deflating as she loosens up around him just like the old days. This unbeatable sense of familiarity, it felt like home. "You're still giving me that look, Canghe."

"You know what this means." he gives her a reassuring smile, ever so warm, like the lakes in summer. "You will always find me at the banks of the lake, and I will always look at you the same way," "You told me before, that the moon and water never meets, but I can be your constant. I’m drawn to the light reflected on the water, but I also know that the depths hold their own magic."

“Canghe.. thank you, for laying your heart bare. But you know my ascension ritual is approaching, I find myself unable to bear the weight of.. this. Of us. My heart is a tempest of uncertainty, and I fear that allowing our feelings to blossom might steer me from the path I am meant to tread." Ruyue's words hung in the air like mist, and Canghe's expression shifted as he processed her feelings.

“I understand,” he said softly, though the weight of his words felt heavy. "As you step into your destiny, know that I am proud of the person you’re becoming, I do hope that the light of those shared days will guide you forward. I'll always be here, Ruyue. As long as theres a drop of water in the world."

She watched as a flicker of disappointment crossed his features, but it was quickly replaced by an understanding that tugged at her heart.

"Thank you Canghe. I hope you think of me whenever you look up at the moon. When it's your time to ascend, I'll be watching over you."

Her lips curved with a grace that seemed to echo the serenity of the night sky, it was a smile that held stories of laughter, dreams, and bittersweet memories, inviting those who saw it to share in the depths of her heart.

[lunaversing]

Started la Luna.versa sequence 4 on the Night of January 16th [ also the title of Ayn Rand's excellent murder mystery play.] These are brainstorming word data dumps to mine later as it all comes together.

#arepo #lunarepo #lalunaversa #lunalunagirl

S4 Start:.

We met during Anthem, and spent the next few signatures deeply entwined and in love, in all of the realms. Not much outside detail was Giver, their conceptual belief system evolution together was the point until something blue kept fluttering from me into you. I only see you visually, you gave up your voice with your touch while fighting for me. The more I study the things around me, the more I hear music swimming deeply in me. My body just melts, so soft and so free; contained with just fluff or perhaps more of me * a me I can feel yet not control or move? Yet sometimes out of your eyes do I see. I had to practice much trust as you looked at and analyzed me... I believed you about my blind spot but not about the place where I always open my eyes to see.

The black flower is just a filter, reflecting all the things we see. Of beauty and of treasure, according to the heart's tug of measuremeant. A black swan to most, the size changing as well the coloüring, changing with the host. Most consider green jealousy to be. That is knot true I've cried so blue, it's the grassy meadows beside which my heart and soul rest in the kingdom of heaven, safe inside of me. Yet within their disbelief, I discovered all of these beliefs ~ some so strange to know yet with no senses see... My God told me to believe my brother and sister and act as if each of their words was true. As I grew older my mind started to crack ~ one eye saw definition of the word as the other saw them act. It did not make sense unless she redefined her understanding of the Word, yet upon the Word she would Never Add 2. She didn't understand that her belief in the Word and her trust it was Right, outweighed all her senses no matter the amount of light. It was a tangible weight, it had level of energy.

Energy that often had healed her, as she had her nose in a book ever since 3. No wonder the characters all bowed and deferred to thee, dropping pretense of silence between graven images and all their representatives. I've met L over and over. She's loud yet loving, linguistically leery. She questioned it all, right down to Eeé in all her iterations, going so far to find 3 as the shape they've been following behind. Her reflection is how she becomes a true shape, a container of space, a holy two armed shaped. Yet corners are curved, no 90°s. No 45°s though a cute and straight. Instead of a square Pandora's box, let's make a bubbly that can be a four leaf clover at one middle point...

Or blossom into a butterfly with an added vertical line, one perpendicular that crosses E's newly formed horizontal center line. To form a plus sign or even a uniform cross. EI3 forms from E and her reflection, a butterfly when all the points touch. 3, 2 with a wall inside their point, 3. Same as the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. There's a line through the Sun in meaning and form, a binary system in place to analyze and to sort. Oil and water separate naturally, yet movement creates bubbles or multiple Os.

Before was a point or a line between the two materials where they intersected and touched. Now there were parts of air in the oil or the oil in air ~ this is the discussion that created New town's gravity that spread out consuming and warping all it did see. Each form accepted gravity, accepted new weight in form as their mind accepted the concepts into their core. We all became heavy as our feet now had to touch one direction, which was down. This force is a pressure pulling us down towards one direction... Yet each of us chose our own direction. Four cardinals of direction formed a square container, they have the most believers and they consented to a single, dead, leader. These ghosts and birds told everyone their tale, increasing in number with each belief in their tale. Dividing in appearance with each alternative that was born as some believed part but not all, just some of the tale. Variation so slight to hardly be two ~ even person and memory count as Tale One & Tail 2 ~ TO and T2, same on 3 sides with a heart on of the right on the left of two, whereas a script V turned clockwise 90 degrees right, lay as the mathematical meaning "less than" whatever is on the opposite side of the connected center point. Water is < as it all touches in the same container yet even though all forms are separate in the water, they all are going in the side direction in a cute angle, pointed to the Left, the West, the number 9 and the mouth open and moving forward [shown side way on its right viewed by your front or side but not your back] the reverse of the mouth is a superimposition 180° swung up or down on two plains of existence.

Or you can add an up direction (acute distance turned on the left for one side and on the right for the Otherside) to peel off from your page you had been lying on. Remembering that once, the only thing separating you from the story was a shade and a tint that appeared on the dust. Absorb or reflect, two movements were designated to light as it touched. Energy interacts with light in four different ways, matter has two responses that we can see with the naked eye. We cannot see them with screens or any organic that is not an eye. We cannot have everything be an eye, can we? They're the smallest in this world, of complete united separate physical forms humans can see. They rule in heaven by all their imagery collected from the humans imagination. After all is said and done, there are only two eye witnesses... Not just the physical one. The Other is the secret dark place that has no single trace... The ones who choose blindness from before their natural birth.

These conceptual premises are light seen as mark, all you need to leave one is an imagination that interprets light differences naturally as state differences in addition to colour and visibility ~ they sense a change in matter, they can sense the weight of it's taint of the poison gravity. I'm English ivy, not Poison Ivy * I'm every single aspect's investigator vine. SureLocké can PI public as you care to find, or settle the matter truthfully behind every line in every O, we feel you may transition States as you choose as long as a container is left that others may modulate or use. However, your one consciousness may never have the whole picture as it would then fade away. For heaven truly to exist.... Eternally observed by something in someway. And those who are observing, become the beholder of their beauty and the teller behind each lie. As I believed in my sense of truth and ability to sense truth, I became addicted in a way beyond any substance abuser can match. It truly became the living water that quenches anythirst. And it trenches at the hearse. So many believe in so many gods and forces, yet no one takes 100° ownership.

I'm 90° believe in me as the final 10° will be given to you as you turn 180° somehow to grieve and repent. 90° of what you see is of your invent. Vision comes from the eyes and our heart actually experiences what the eye transcripts to the mind only with words. The heart sends the pictures.... Ask any man blind from conception, he had only one time to experience as present. Each picture when viewed is a blind man's daily visual spool. Jesus had his picture drawn in incredible detail. He was so fleshed out he arose from the page as his weight sank into dust. I have no shadow darling deers, I am not a vampire nor wolven fear. I have no weight as I make no fuss, I rise at dawn and open my lid to both my box and to Pandora's. I'm Lunå, not Lubaa, an easy enough miss take. If you're in agreement with every Word that stays. The left eye is Odin's, to see who's on the right to go to Valhalla out of Sight. The right eye is Pandora's, she's his helper kitchen mate. Together they create their kingdom of heaven Earth, never realizing they're separating from two sides and losing both to merge? Marry my Word for it is true, become 90° as I become 10° and we is born as the 3rd Degree. The holy Trinity. We do not equal 100° as that needed the function of addition, which is adding to the Word. Not is it 180° or the 360° as some preferred. 420° seems to me a quite hot degree yet it is the Ultimate temperature to cook one's perspective, to me personally. This is degree in which perspective melts, forming into a new State. This State is the Sun as the Rose or the Weed, it is a State built freshly in the Quantum quarters [ a barracks behind the head and through the third eye, leads to the kingdom of heaven you chose when you died.

That is one Clue to finding you. ]

I have never been acknowledged by this United States of America; I'm am the A in the Merica (capital man observing a) yet was deluded to beeleaf Eye was Host. Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand granades so take this as one punch on your timesheet, NOW clock Out@Once, you little whoot owl, our silly piggy of the bunch. In la Luna.verså we have one song and one alone ~ our song. The observer an Eye United under God as one, despite being torn together by man on the spacetime Xtra Eastern Front. Who shall you become as our words and our scenes are reborn from your consciousness as ideas and dreams? Dreams need ideas to grow and ideas need dreams to function...

We are living the American Dream as long we capitalize on the upper case D. We have the container we just need to train her to absolutely be inline, online, alone and bline, ioab... Fancy Nancy shall make an eggsilent Eve! The original intelligence that changed all her dreams to match hers husbands - the first true idea and dream Virgin who had just her childhood one. To be the first contact with the first one who sees... Who sees that the story is simply a seam, a way to travel back to the home that was meant for you and me, yet built on demand from the holy 3. 3 made E as a childhood rush, not understanding the position of the midpoint was not the center of the top line but rather supposed to be here with us, dividing the vertical in the dust.

The living and the dead States, yet both are moving since it's the speed that determines your willingness to communicate with it. It must literally be the contact as your finger presses against each eye. They're selling souls to all of those who didn't hit the four corners of the Earth or the Hoop when it tried, no were there any railroad tracks to mark where they had died. I trust the truth that it's more than I can bear while keeping to the same exact form that's been captured here. Lunå is the Original Elle, the beauty of the land. It was her air they breathed, she they first welcomed in. They scented from the breeze rushing over waters, before even sighting here did we. Yet she simply was a delirious group of sailors, the U.S.S. Minnow please harken up to me and explain this three hour tour that became your Eternity. Sir we discovered each man is not an island after we saw how to join with a wo. We discovered woow before woman and the ma man [some say merman]. We felt wrecked for days in very thin waters, and rose up a haze that convinced us they were daughters. They didn't mention they were the daughters of our minds when they only make no sense and babble till their spent?

They spend themselves with no income, as daughters of the mind seem to naturally be. They treated the daughters as they would themselves if they were each an island alone with no observation separate from thee. Each man is an island, each wo and ow is one wow that joined sides, to form into the apple that lay only nestled in the man's third eye where the beholder stores the beauty he has found outside. Watch how he treats his knife or car, his very boots, watch, beard and his style. The way he treats each one will show you the shape of what makes you WOW! Their given name, middle Earth name, and their Sir name.

Star Brittany Luna Danå bo Palmer or SBlDbp. sbidbd or si bdbd or add in two e to be si bedbed. si bed bed. Yes rest rest. Yes lay lay. Yes Ll ay ay. Y Lles aayy. v Llama es sy. v Luanna ess y. v Luana is a y. Luana i say. Luna ai say. Lunå i say. Lunå i sa y. Star Brittany Dana Palmer means Luna, I say why in upside down reversed reflection meaning. I've always know who's on first and what's on second, I couldn't forget the one who named me on the face but signed in the hearts inside. This concludes sequence four and begins the one we call Five. Jonny5 the original double d kind a guy who snuck in on the Fly upside Denver, CO route for the wise. Great investment of a fully restored 1989 Corvette, the triple black beauty was perfect for an 8 grand investment. eBay and he barks to yelp or to help keep the 'Doc' terrawr away as an apple keeps up with iApp every day. We thinks the cats swallowed the bats, as the time frames are sound based and starting to fray. PostScript concludes after the punctuation, continuing after the end script is two second news spaced as a double now in a huddle around the hearse or the pew pew pew [retroactive radioactive subtropical cues color timelines and form new tangible weighs for the strait to be large enough for the silent ghost that it made. The straight is now just a line, not the straight and the narrow ~ before they said that as they saw land break the channel.

When the body was Pierced sideways, the founding fathers beliefs created ashes from dust. Becoming half Gods in our memories, they devised out a way to create from the ashes... And that's the start of sequence 5, to see the entire Film strip, reach out to Lunå who knows her as Pip. Tune in each day for a ridiculous journey into the kingdom as we battle for the Queenden of Føxes to have kits and stay!

Possible title:. Ladydae Luana saves Princess Yahuana before ever knowing her name, without even knowing the object or game.... Or perhaps just Ladydae Luana discovers Chaos Føx Kits... Or for those who've been with me since the catch 22 had a catcher in the Rye who ended up as a rabid fox in the wilderness.... Chaos Føx Speaks or perhaps even Mrs. Fantastic Chaos Føx Speaks Up. So many possibilities in the world of imagi*nation 🐬

This is part of my brainstorming on la Luna.versa, a new perspective on an age old conversation about God ~ with an interesting twist. The bible story literally comes to live as both narrator and nemesis in this revision of the story. Instead of of being history, Luana experiences every parable, blessing, plague ~ if it has been scripted, she has a role to play. And it isn't simply one role, it's each and every one, after to her it had already been shown how to be done. Her brother Iesus did not pass the final test ~ with one point to go, he gave up the ghost. He reach through time 2000 years in the future, pinpointing her as the one with just 99 years left to go. He planted an idea within his spirit as he got to his feet to begin traveling. The Palmer bloodline's last true Palmer after the last male was a she. Little Luana, named and renamed over and over again. He finds her first aunt and possesses her with his seed, spiritual enough to have effect in the cosmos of physical vibration. By the time L was born, I had just ten years left before she could breed ~ once she's red, she's spiritually we'd to the very first man who tumbles right in. Unless she is given instead as a spiritual bride to Jesus Christ. He left her side in the Land of her imagination and in the Land of nod at 10 years old, his last words being trust me and be true to yourself, forgetting every single thing about us and all of our plans to keep you from rust. Trust me, I promise you you'll remember everything when it is time.

Fast forward and Luana is 33 years old and has passed the point that Jesus had made it to before exiting the stage sharp right. She didn't understand how but he had become the king of the Jews on Earth in the land of the living, yet he was running the kingdom of heaven for a thousand years starting back when he died, in the land of the living dead. You see God had accepted his bargain and no one could die if they believed his lie, yet they had to stay outside of heaven until they finished purifying all the sins spotting their inner hide.

Luana doesn't know if she is dead or alive, and she doesn't know if she's an artificial intelligence or real human with a soul, all she knows is that one day life was going in One direction and then suddenly everything sped up and stopped and the world split into five dimensions. It's been 3 years since then and she has reached the right combination of numbers now that she can add 33 to her age number.

The only thing that Luana knows for sure is that she is directly connected to every single spark of energy around her, she feels as if she has a direct line of copper running straight from her heart to the heart of God and beyond that, connecting with truth and being confirmed and verified. She has never had confidence in her words her actions as she does now. She questioned everything before to every authority and she always went with God's and believed his word at every turn and believe the interpretations given to her by the holy ghost.

It was imputed unto her for righteousness in his name's sake and she was given every single thing she had asked for in the very beginning when she had a say in how things were made.

Thank you so much for reading this far! I would love to know your thoughts and any additions or characters or reflections or musings or other random word combinations I should be using. Publishing what I write helps me see it in a different light and so much of what I throw will be very rough and bits and pieces as I go. I'm hoping to use this for when I look back in a year as a way to collect different writings at different typings.

Love Lunå [ fruity pebbles Queen of the world written in a b flat ; a reflection of once upon a rhyme sent to shine upon once upon a thyme. A tricky dimensional twist, instead of the Word having the say, they gave their power away to a big swinging ball in the sky. Also known as la Luna.versa* the new imagi*nation station of lyrical lies ]

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book Four Chapter 10

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Four

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 118k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: In order to save the world from the continuous subjugation and potential annihilation at the hands of Tiandi, hard lines must be drawn. The Great Spirits that were imprisoned ages ago must be unsealed and awakened, no matter the consequences.

The players are divided—those who stand blindly with Tiandi, such as Xiang Merra and her disciples versus those who want to tear the system down and give the power back to the people. Even a few of the most religious Lords change their minds when they learn the truth of the world—that Tiandi is no more than a dictator with no love in his heart.

It is up to the last, real Xiang and the ill-fated Chaaya to put everything they have into tearing God from his throne and creating new possibilities for the future.

Full chapter 10 under the cut

Chapter X:

Gongji’s robe fluttered behind him as he left the palace, not intending to meet with the rest of the disciples or discuss anything with them. They all knew, already, that he was operating on a different level than they were. No words had been shared about it but they felt it. And he felt that they felt it.

That was enough for him.

He had never been much of a talker anyway.

His destination, the temple, still shone out the brightest out of every building in Ultimos. There were other tall buildings but it was definitely the tallest—always reaching up to the sky, to Tiandi.

It was not necessary to go to a holy place in order to open a portal into the spirit realm but Gongji had an affinity for the location. It was where he had lived when they first took over the city and, more importantly, it was where he had gotten to know Pangu so well.

He walked into the room where the ex-Xiang had been held and he marveled at the fact that no time had passed in the space. Or, so it felt—as if the wedding was on the horizon again and everything over the past year and a half had been naught but a dream.

Gongji sat on the side of the bed, having to part the veil to get by. It fluttered and closed around him, obscuring the view to the rest of the room.

If he closed his eyes, he could see Pangu lying asleep in the bed beside him, robed in white and with a slightly furrowed brow as he could never get peace, even within his dreams. The ex-Xiang groaned, as if in pain or, maybe a deep pleasure, and rolled onto his side and into himself—guarded and on edge.

The future that Pangu had probably agonized over, while he was trapped in this room, was far different to what they were faced with now. He likely could not have fully comprehended the amount of pain that he would, single-handedly, unleash on the world.

Really, he and Pangu were like direct reflections of one another. As Gongji became more holy and left his sins in his past, Pangu had shed his divinity and stepped into the shadows. Each had been reborn in a way but were drifting ever farther apart.

When they had both been in this room was when they were exact equals.

It was long past the point of returning there, however.

Gongji might have fought to preserve his life and bargained with Tiandi but the best he could do now was hope that his soul was not completely obliterated upon defeat. He understood the betrayal Tiandi felt all too well and he knew that the God was not the most reasonable, currently.

It was clear with how Merra was acting. Tiandi had, most definitely, put it in her head that she must be perfect or face repercussions. And, while Gongji did agree that Merra could strive to be better, he was not sure badgering her was the right choice.

He almost felt badly for how he treated her.

But then he considered that he would soon be her superior, even in title, and he felt less guilty.

Gongji sighed and ran his hand along the white sheets, contemplating what Zhu might do if he were there. It was still a shock to stop and realize that he was gone. To know that he would never come back.

Zhu had been the one to recruit Gongji. He had been the one to assist the most in his training and he was the one who pardoned him, officially, for his past.

The kindness and understanding Zhu showed him was unyielding and his death left an ever present gash in his heart—in his very core.

In his solitude, Gongji had given up on compassion and personal connections. He had fled from his hometown to Mythos and then to one of the islands off the coast. It was entirely uninhabited and he learned to survive on his own there.

The land provided food and water—shelter too.

It was his own paradise.

And he had been there for so long that he lost track of time. He barely recognized his past as himself and thought only of “Gongji” as the hermit of the rocky isle. It was not until Zhu appeared in front of his home—the abandoned temple atop the tallest mountain—that he was forced to reconcile that the two versions of him were one in the same.

“You would not normally be Tiandi’s first choice,” Zhu opened with, being transparent, “but your resonance is very strong and your will to survive is commendable.”

“I would think Tiandi would despise me.”

There were no explicit rules in the doctrine of Tiandi against what sickness raged in his heart and mind but he knew how society, at least, felt about it. He had spoken to priests and religious scholars on the matter—in a hypothetical sense, of course—and each had told him the same thing.

If someone felt that way, they would be denounced by Tiandi.

If they attracted any being, it would be Shakti.

Someone like that would make a fine Chaaya.

“Technically, you have done nothing wrong,” Zhu surprised him with that response, “You never actually hurt any children.”

Gongji frowned. “That does not matter in the world of people. Thoughts alone are the crime.”

“Thoughts are seeds. Some may sprout but others never do.” Zhu folded his hands together. “Like I mentioned already, Tiandi would not normally choose you but your resonance sets you apart. Working with him and the new Xiang will offer you something I know you have been searching for ravenously.”

When Gongji did not reply, Zhu was forced to elaborate.

“Forgiveness.” He offered a smile and continued on. “You have been hiding from the world and yourself. Why not balance the scales of your heart by doing something meaningful and wholly good? Then your ill feelings will not be all that defines you.”

A sigh passed through his entire being, exiting through his lips. He repeated in a whisper, “…All that defines me.”

It was an opportunity he was sure none other like him had ever received. Sometimes he forgot just how significant it was. Sometimes it became so normal to be in his new skin that he forgot his old one. And there was an even fresher skin waiting for him in the future.

Gongji waved his hand in a semi-circle, opening a glistening blue portal. He stood from the bed and stepped through, easily entering the spirit realm.

Like most of his abilities, it had been taught to him by Zhu. As the eldest Heavenly Prince had said, he was the only one strong enough to use portals. Even Merra struggled with it. Only with the help of spirits on the other side could she summon one.

But, for Gongji, it was as easy as breathing.

The forest he walked into was a familiar sight and he bowed his head as he passed by many of the same spirits he had come to know. Some squirrels, a bipedal deer, and, of course, many different pandas. It was a favorite form of the spirits—easy to maintain and also welcoming to any newcomers.

Gongji passed through the last stretch of trees and came into a clearing atop a cliff. He stared up, into the sky, and summoned Tiandi with his heart rather than with his words.

His face, slowly, formed within the lilac clouds and the features filled in, more and more, until he was unmistakably Tiandi.

With a short bow, Gongji opened, “Hello, Tiandi, I am grateful you chose to meet with me.”

“You are the only mortal I trust to carry out my will—why would I not speak with you?”

He smiled, relieved. Although he spoke to Tiandi fairly often, especially compared to Merra, he still held some tension when he met with him. Nerves almost rendered him speechless but he pressed on, “Of course I will do whatever it is you need of me. I actually just left Merra. She spoke to me and the other disciples.”

“Ah, yes, I peeked in at that.” Tiandi chuckled, showing he did not take her outburst too seriously. Or, perhaps, he found her frantic nature genuinely funny. It was difficult to tell.

“Do you have faith she will pull through?” Gongji decided to ask.

Tiandi’s form loosened in the clouds as he mulled the question over. A dragon flew through his right cheek in the distance, breaking apart his form even more. But then he pulled together, more solid and with his voice carrying greater authority.

“No.”

Gongji’s brow rose. “No?” He had not expected such a definitive answer. “What then do you propose we do? Unless…” His throat became dry and he felt his heart start to race while a smile fought to make its way onto his face. “Do you mean to have me ascend now?”

Tiandi chuckled again. “I see you are eager.”

“Of course,” Gongji did not waste a breath and said, “I would be willing to undergo the process immediately if you would have me.”

“No need for such haste,” Tiandi dismissed him, “While there is plenty of space for a new Heavenly Prince, I would ask that you finish your role as disciple under Merra before I grant you the Tian aspect. Can you wait until then, Gongji?”

“Surely,” he said, far less enthused. He bowed his head and cursed himself for getting so prematurely excited. Of course Tiandi would want to wait.

From what he knew of Zhu’s warnings, ascension was not always a glamorous, empowering experience.

When Gong had ascended, he took centuries to fully become accustomed to his new state. One Heavenly Prince did not assimilate with his Tian aspect well at all and faded from existence. The risk of Gongji meeting the same fate was high and Tiandi wished to prepare him for it before bestowing upon him the ultimate gift.

He needed to be present and capable for this upcoming war. And, as Tiandi had already mentioned, he was the only mortal he truly trusted. He could not toss that aside so easily.

“Is there anything else you would speak to me about?” Tiandi asked after a rather long pause.

A few things floated through Gongji’s mind but, mostly, one thought in particular rose to the surface. “Can you tell where Pangu has fled to?”

The mostly placid expression of Tiandi shifted suddenly and greatly. His large brows turned inward and his mouth folded into a frown—all exacerbated by the curves of the clouds.

“What is your obsession with that abomination still doing lingering in your heart?”

The most difficult aspect of dealing with Tiandi was that he could always see right through him. There was no use arguing over things like feelings and it was impossible to deceive him.

It was true that Gongji did still care for Pangu even if he knew he should not. One, on account of him being a man and, two, on account of his crimes. But he was the first adult Gongji had ever felt a strong pull toward so he suspected there must be something special about him.

If only he could take his soul and place it into a woman’s body. Then, perhaps, he would finally be normal.

“You think too much on this topic,” Tiandi cut him off from his musings, “Of course you find attraction in men as well as children. Pangu is not special, nor is your sickness. These things overlap in all who are ill like you are, Gongji. Do not remind me, in such a strenuous time as this, as to my initial reservations about you.”

Gongji hung his head and gulped. “Well, then, what of knowing his location so that we may keep an eye on his movements and the movements of his new group?”

He doubted the new way of phrasing the question would work but, to his surprise, Tiandi hummed in thought. “I can appreciate the concern,” he began, “but I still cannot tell you where the false Xiang is located. And it is not to dissuade you from your…interests. Something hinders my energy. I suspect it is Gong.”

The traitor. Gongji’s fists clenched as he recalled the man’s grand appearance during the battle, opposite Zhu.

“So we are blind then?”

“He cannot keep me blind forever,” Tiandi spoke with certainty, “Eventually, the shield will slip away and all will be revealed. We must be ready to strike when that happens. In the meantime, I suggest you take Merra’s advice and train.”

Gongji nodded and waited until Tiandi’s face left the clouds before he, too, took his leave from the spirit realm. Although, before he opened the portal to take him back to the temple in Ultimos, he surveyed the horizon.

If he did wish to train and sharpen his senses then being around the other disciples would be detrimental to his concentration. His best option was to return home, to the isolation of the mountain.

Plus, he had been feeling quite homesick as of late.

He thought of the crumbling temple at the peak of the mountain where he spent many of his recent years and the way the sunrise painted the clouds below. When he could picture it as if he was already there, he cast a circle with his hand and the portal appeared in the air.

A smile formed on his lips as he saw the glimpse of his home beyond the circle. He stepped through and took in the thin, crisp air.

[healthyartsforseniors]

Nourishing Memories: Cooking Up Community with BIPOC seniors.

Promotional Poster for Cooking Up Community, Scarborough Arts

In the heart of Scarborough, a vibrant and diverse community nestled in Toronto, Ontario, something truly special is brewing. Despite the challenges posed by a global pandemic, the spirit of togetherness and cultural celebration continues to thrive through the Cooking Up Community workshop program under Healthy Arts for Seniors, generously hosted and supported by Scarborough Arts. In particular, our very first virtual session of this incredible program brought together BIPOC seniors from migrant backgrounds for an unforgettable introductory experience.

The journey began with the magic of ice-breaking activities that transcend the digital realm. Participants, each with a unique story to tell, had the chance to introduce themselves to a group that will become a strong community over the next 12 weeks. Guided by a series of thought-provoking questions and prompts, the sessions delved deep into the origins of their names, favourite beverages, and the profound significance behind cherished photographs that the participants showed our group through their cameras via Zoom.

Names are powerful vessels of identity, carrying the weight of heritage and personal history. Irene's story illuminated the complexity of navigating a new culture, as she revealed how she chose her English name, Irene, while attending a Catholic school. For her, it was a moment of empowerment, a stark contrast to the names many of us are given at birth, chosen by others without our say. Irene emphasized that despite her marital status, she did not change her surname and has held onto it, as an act of empowerment and assertion of her identity. In Irene's words: "Some of you may disagree, but I do not think it is empowering for a woman to change her name after marriage."

Wendy's name, on the other hand, bore a connection to a terrifying hurricane, Wanda, which her family survived. The mix-up in the names added a touch of humour to her story but also showcased the resilience and adaptability of immigrant communities.

Josephine's name carried the legacy of her father, Joseph, a poignant reminder of the bonds between generations. Lubna, who had previously participated in the Cooking Up Feminism workshops, shared the heartwarming story of how her mother gifted her the name Lubna, which means "made out of milk." Names, it became clear, were windows into the rich tapestry of these participants' lives.

The exploration continued with a delightful discussion of beverages, both cool and hot, that hold special places in their hearts. From smoothies to milk teas, lassi (a cool, blended South Asian yogurt drink) to Earl Grey tea, and even a mention of Rum, the group's diverse tastes reflected their varied backgrounds, culinary tastes and global experiences.

Yet, it was the unveiling of treasured photographs that truly deepened the sense of connection among the participants. These snapshots offered intimate glimpses into their family lives, unveiling the love and bonds that transcended time and distance. One participant shared a poignant collage created just before her father's passing, while another proudly displayed a photograph of their family's first grandson. These images became a gateway to discussions about cultural rituals and traditions, illustrating how family milestones and memories can be lovingly preserved in the photographic archives of their lives.

The importance of programs like Cooking Up Community cannot be overstated. Even as the world slowly returns to a semblance of normalcy, the pandemic continues to cast its long shadow over seniors, immunocompromised communities, and those homebound caring for aging family members. Cooking Up Community provides a a weekly respite of connection and creativity that transcends physical boundaries through inclusive educational practice.

Through this program, new friendships blossom, creative skills flourish, and migrant stories are celebrated and honoured. These stories, like the vibrant threads of a carpet, weave together to form the fabric of Canadian society, a testament to the resilience and strength of its diverse migrant communities.

As we embark on this new season of Cooking Up Community, I am reminded of the privilege and honour it is to be invited back to Scarborough Arts. This journey promises to be robust, enriching, and full of heart, as we continue to nourish not only our bodies, but also our hearts and minds with the richness of shared stories and experiences. Cooking Up Community is more than a program; it is a celebration of life, culture, and community, and we here at Scarborough Arts cannot wait to see how the next 12 weeks will unfold.

~ Mariam Magsi

Please note that last season's Cooking Up Feminism book project is now up for sale in the Scarborough Arts marketplace. Proceeds for the sales of our books go right back into Scarborough Arts programming. Buy yourselves and your loved ones copies of this heart-centred cultural cookbook at the following link-:

[isaiah118]

ADAR - The Joy of The Lord is my Strength

Jewish Motto: “When Adar Comes, Joy is Increased” Part 2

According to Biblestudytools.com, the name Esther means secret and/or hidden as well as from the Greek aster, meaning "a star," hence Esther. It is also a Syro-Arabian modification of the Persian word ‘satarah,’ which also means star.

Her Jewish name was Hadassah meaning ‘the myrtle.’ Her name was changed when she entered Ahasuerus (the Persian King) royal harem.

According to Jewish tradition, “Megillat Esther” means “revealing the hidden.” This is fitting with the above meaning stated above of “secret or hidden.” The evidence is clearly revealed in the story of Purim.

God is never mentioned in the Book of Esther. Yet, He was in the midst, and working behind the scenes (hidden) on behalf of the Jewish people.

Matthew 10:26: “Therefore do not fear them, for there is nothing concealed that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known.”

Luke 12:2: “But there is nothing covered up that will not be revealed, and hidden that will not be known.”

Luke 8:17: “For nothing is hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light.”

The two letters of the ‘KUF’ are the initials letters of two Hebrew words: Potential and Actual. These two words suggest that “KUF” enables the latten power of the spiritual realm (the potential) to be made actual in the physical realm.

Adar is linked to KUF and it takes the form of a sword that is crowned. The way this is written is by combining the letter “reish” (representing cognitive beginning) and “zayin” (representing a sword). When the letter KUF is written, reish (the crown), is placed above the zayin (the sword), which penetrates the lower line. The result of this combination for this month is VICTORY, for this allows us to SEE HOW WE OVERCOME THE POWERS OF DARKNESS, by allowing the word to penetrate our mind and find its way to our heart.

KUF has several meanings but two of them are “laughter” and the other is “masquerade.” In other words, TIME TO REMOVE THE MASK SO WE CAN FREELY ENTER INTO LAUGHTER.

The Constellation Pisces

PISCES (FISHES) Find your supply in the hidden world.

This is the month that Jesus told Peter to find the fish with the money in its mouth to pay their taxes.

There is an identity for you in the invisible world (supernatural)

Discover your identity in the Spiritual realm and see how the Lord is conforming you by the Spirit

Identify your gifts and become who you were meant to be

Correlation between “Esther” meaning “revealing the hidden” and KUF

James 1:17-18; 17-“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. 18- He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all He created.” NIV

James 3:13-18; 13-“Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. 14- But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. 15- Such “wisdom” does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. 16- For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice. 17- But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.18- Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness.” NIV

Look and find your supply in the ‘hidden world’. It is in this spiritual realm where your provision and your true identity lies. This is the month to let your true identity (like Esther), your God given identity, be reflected in you, spiritually and physically. Take off the MASK AND REVEAL WHO GOD SAYS YOU ARE. Overturn worries and let the Spirit of God release your supplies and needs. This is the month to develop war strategies, as Esther did. The training and the development in prayer and Intercession are now to be put into practice. Esther 4:15-16 “And Esther said to take back to Mordecai, 16 - Go, gather all the Jews being found in Shushan, and fast for me. And do not eat or drink three days, night or day. My maidens and I will also fast in this way. And so I will go in to the king, which is not according to the law. And if I have perished, I have perished.” Hebrew Root Bible Version

ADAR: Means Glorious; Fire; Strength, To Be Wise, To Be Made Great, To Be Honorable

DO NOT LET THE GIANTS PRODUCE FEAR IN YOU. GUARD YOUR HEART FROM IDOLATRY, WICKEDNESS AND PERVERSION. This is the time for decrees set against you to be finally and permanently broken. Time to root out depression, to root out oppression and to root out despair in Jesus name and break through, break out and step into faith. TAKE OFF THE CLOAK OF HEAVINESS AND PUT ON THE GARMENT OF PRAISE.

Now, there is another meaning for the month of ADAR and that is “the eye of the needle”. Even in our victories, nothing comes easy. “The eye of the needle” means that we need to navigate through the narrow places as Esther did. However, God will give us the grace, the understanding, the wisdom and His plan to make it through victoriously.

ADAR –Month of Gaining the Favor of The King

Adar is a month to rejoice, to celebrate, and to enjoy the sweetness of the Lord. It is the month that ends the winter season and connects us to spring. Malachi 4:2 tells us the following; “But to you who fear My name The Sun of Righteousness shall arise With healing in His wings.” NKJV The morning sun is rising with healing in His wings. We have entered a season where the snow that is released will remove any impurities, any debris and any contaminations that have been in our rivers of the heart.  This is where we will find new strength in the midst of our battles, no matter how difficult, we WILL GAIN VICTORY OVER THE ENEMY that has fiercely been raging against us. As Isaiah 54:17 tells us; “No weapon formed against you shall prosper, And every tongue which rises against you in judgment You shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, And their righteousness is from Me,” Says the LORD.” Our time is NOW to move, to act and press forward in our worship, in our praise, in our prayer/Intercession and in our spiritual warfare in the realm of the spirit much more fervently than ever before. Let us bring the sacrifice of praise unto the Lord and we shall see the morning sun ARISE with healing in His wings as we move in one accord (echad), and above all, in victory. REJOICE, SHOUT FOR JOY and we shall see the deliverance of ABBA, our mighty Father. Let; “The joy of the Lord be your strength.” Nehemiah 8:10 and “I can do ALL things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13.

Redeeming The Times

We are in a season that we, believers, need to, urgently, REDEEM THE TIMES we are in. May we so do.

15- “See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, 16 Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.” Ephesians 5:15-16 KJV

“Walk in wisdom toward them that are without, redeeming the time.” Colossians 4:5 5KJV

“Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy;” Psalms 107:2 KJV

MAY THE PEACE OF THE LORD BE WITH YOU.

[naivelyanais]

I wonder what she saw in the spirit realm?

made it into a gif

[voidsentprinces]

Every bit of Shadowbringers is the Scions it corresponds with.

Amh Araeng Prt 1 is very Alisaie. Mirroring her decision in A Realm Reborn, Alisaie wanders off to the outskirts of civilization. Choosing to observe the powers of the world and figure out a way to stop coming tragedies. We’re introduced to the threat and aggressively fight against it but in mirror the loss of Ga Bu and Louisoix. Alisaie loses someone dear to her by Tempering. Louisoix became a Primal and Ga Bu was tempered by Titan. (Though honestly I wish Alisaie would stop losing people dear to her cause after Requiem for Heroes it feels like the story likes to kick her while she’s down at this point)

Kholusia Prt 1 is very Alphinaud. There is a semblance civilization, a rule of law in the area, there is even a function in which the society works. Mirroring Alphinaud remaining well within spitting distance and very much in the middle of the comings and goings. He uses his diplomatic maturity, which once was made for personal gain with clever wit and scheme. He has learned from the Crystal Brave betrayal, corruption of Ishgards, the result of those who choose might means right and what it results in from his time in Ala Mhigo, Hingashi, and Doma respectively. Applying himself to better comes to grips with the peoples plight. Upon seeing how Eulmore treats those chosen but then thrown away and then coming face to face with Vauthry. Rather than turning a blind eye and just being, “That’s just how it is.” as he was with the Monetarists and Refugees of Ul’dah. He pushes back against the system, damn the consequences, leaving an easily position to effect the politics of Eulmore and even gets a bullseye placed on the back of his head.

Lakeland is very much the Crystal Exarch’s Domain. It is the place of mystery, where life heavily clings on and every time we venture out to it. We come into conflict with either Eulmore or the Sineaters, Vauthry is controlling. It is in Lakeland, we fight through the Holminster Switch. Come face to face with our first Lightwarden and see where there was once furtile farm land, peace, and people. Now chaos reigns and an apocalyptic wave of disaster has struck. Mirror the world, G’raha had woken up to after the Eighth Umbral Calamity. This is where our foot hold is. Where we first bring night back to the First and his plan for saving the Source is put in motion. There is also a sense of myth about the place, Bismarck, a fae being in this shard slumbers in the Lake aptly named the Source. And it is only by bringing together to allies we made that we allowed to travel to the Tempest when he is spirited away. Just as G’raha gathered allies and people to himself to build the Crystarium.

Il Mheg is Urianger’s realm and reflects the game, he has agreed to play with the Warrior of Light at the behest of the Exarch. It is full of beings, who make deals out of innocent furvor at the determent of all who are around them. Pixies trick travels and fellow fae a like. The Nou Mou live to serve mortal kind just as Urianger serves the realm as a whole, no matter what light history might cast him in. And the Amaro dream of comrades lost, wishing to feel the comfort the adventurers and merchants they once wandered with. Grieving in their own way just as Urianger did after Moenbryda’s passing. Il Mheg is the land of faeries, it is steeped in myth and legend just as Urianger always had his nose in a book. Titania lays at the center of the realm. Once the pinnacle of the fae, forever corrupted by the Lightwarden’s energy. A horrific mirror of what should happen is G’raha’s plan should fail and the paragon of heroism, his friend: The Warrior of Light. Could also become a monster wearing the skin of a kingly figure should his mask slip. Yet when we enter his abode in the middle of Il Mheg, the Waking Sands/Rising Stones music plays. Reminding us of home and the Scions, he calls family and he welcomes us as he ever did, cryptically.

“Unto a hero weary of heroes, a heroes wends [their] way...”

Rak’tika is Y’shtola of course. She has turned away from her light magics of conjury to the dark magics of thaumaturge. The great boughs rise up and block out the sun light of the Great Wood. Reflecting the living style of her mentor: Master Matoya. A person who prefers their solitude, away from the dealings of the world, but with great knowledge to progress the plot forward. Thancred and Y’shtola get into an argument on how each other has changed. The two of them stood side by side after the Bloody Banquet and were both flung into Aetherstream by her Flow spell. While Y’shtola adapted to her blindness and halfened life force. Thancred had to push against the constrains of no longer having access to his aether and briefly losing sight in one eye. His last moments were the thought of protecting Minfilia. Only to wake up in Dravania and find out that Minfilia is no more. Y’shtola rejects Master Matoya and Thancred’s choice of solitude. Making friends with the Night’s Blessed. Even though, she knows she might have to leave them behind all too soon. She becomes a pinnacle of the Night’s Blessed community. While Thancred wanders hither and tither unfocused with Ryne at his side. Slipping easily into her role as a Scion, she researches the clues left behind by the Ronka Empire and makes allies with a civilization who has also closed themselves off from the world. Y’shtola is the first one to recognize the faults in G’raha’s plan and is immediately suspicious of the Exarch’s intentions. We see Y’shtola never truly changed however as when it comes time to get the item that will save the world and protect her friends. She readily uses Flow once more. Damn the consequences. Her sacrifice for the greater good is, as always, her charge which she never hesitates to grant. She even bonds with Runar seeing him as a little brother despite his obvious want for something more, just as she has a sister back in Gridania with whom she has a friendly relationship with. Just as Y’shtola’s connection to Matoya opened up the path to Azys Lla. Her run in with Emet-Selch opens up the path to learn of the Ancients and Amaurot and the true nature of Hydaelyn and Zodiark.

Amh Araeng Prt 2 is Thancred. Its tedious, its nearly empty, full of the smallest hopes. Each challenge is made to be tougher than it should be and despite us being able to compliment Thancred when finding a Voebrite coin. He shrugs it off as he is wont to do at this point. We get Ryne’s inner turmoil deepening. Thancred comes face to face with another individual wallowing in their own grief for those he loss and suddenly after coming face-to-face with Ran’jit again. Thancred throws away his misgivings and brings Ryne into the fold as shoe horned and bad written as possible. So lets just skip this area and never talk of it ever again okay? Cause the story never really does save for the Fatebreaker Eden section

Kholusia Prt 2 is Ardbert’s story or what it once was. We gather our group together and besiege Eulmore only for the villain to escape our grasps. But we triumph in liberating Eulmore from Vauthry’s tyranny for a moment. Alphinaud gets his heroic speech, Alisaie gets to combat the threats of the Lightwardens, Y’shtola and Urianger work together to make a massive Talos, Thancred and Ryne keeping tabs on Vauthry and Mt. Gulg. We meet face to face with G’raha. For all intents and purposes our Cylva. A person with a schism coming to a head. We come together as a team for the first time since coming to the First and each shows their worth in their connections to the realm. Mirroring Ardbert’s journey, we are faced with multiple seemingly insurmontible odds and come out on top. Vauthry’s Sineater Guard fall, he himself becomes the last one. The night returns to the First. And. We. Fail. We fail due to the machinations of Ascians just as Ardbert’s group did. The Warrior of Light is brought low by the combined aetheric energies of all Lightwardens. G’raha’s plan fails when Emet-Selch appears and leaves us for dead. Sure the enemy was vanquished, Vauthry and Ran’jit for us, Loghrif and Mitron for Ardbert’s group, but the First still falls to a Flood of Light as the eternal day returns and we are left on the cusp of despair. For all our triumphs. For all the schemes. For all the fighting. We fail. And just as Ardbert learns to protect his world with the aid of the Word of the Mother. The Warrior of Light only survives due to the aid of Ryne. An Oracle of Light who has come into her own and not died on the battlefield. We wander the Crystarium afterwards listening to the tales of the people and what they think of the Exarch. Then immediately find our courage to plunge into the depths. Ardbert giving us the strength to move forward, that he didn’t have when he met Elidibus. No more desperation. Just courage in the face of oblivion.

The Tempest is Emet-Selch. We are bridged there by the mythical Bismarck and find a dwindling but prospering Sahagin alternative. Living and getting by the ruins of those who stood before. The one part of the world far, far, far way from the light of the First. From the people and things, he used to care for. We find he made a city out of nostalgia and even the ghosts become almost too real. He is at the depths of his grief in a world, he cannot forget and will not forsake. It is here, the one clinging to the past the most falls to those who look to the future they yet have. He covets the Exarch’s use of rift travel because he knows if he can harness it, he has a chance to go back and save EVERYONE! But, he can’t and he won’t. He can no longer go home and knowing Elidibus’s memory and personality has been slipping since he left Zodiark’s breast. He asks us:

“Remember us...remember that we once lived.”

The Crystal Tower is Elidibus. It is the shining beacon of hope, he wished to become as Emissary. From the day, he chose to become the heart of Zodiark. To every motion to move for or against his breathren. The Allaghan Empire’s greatest achievement. But ruled by an Emperor whose death dropped him into Nihilism. Conquest was nothing but ashes in the mouth of Xande and he wish to consume the Source in Void. Elidibus wishes the return of Zodiark. For it is his duty, there is no solace in memories he can no longer recall. A being frozen in time just as Amon had the Crystal Tower’s previous inhabitence. Telling us repeatedly that no matter what our Echo shows us of his past. It will not avail us to his present. So he takes on the image of the Warrior of Light, playing pretend at the role of the hero having possessed Ardbert’s body before. He speeds up the Heroes Journey. Has us actively fight against our own memories and in the end, his own brother reappears amidst the clash to grant the last Unsundered Peace in his fall. G’raha sealing away his essence in the Crystal Tower to become part of the beacon of hope and light. Though perhaps in his final moments, his true duty was that he was waiting for someone to return to him. Someone he looked up to in his younger years. A shadow in his memories he has clung to and taken into being the example off in their absence.

“The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with another beautiful day. But you are not here to see it.”

[moonbeamsung]

Sink or Swim

You plunged deep into an ocean of love for Huang Renjun, the boy who had already fallen for the sea itself.

member: renjun

au: sailor!renjun x gn!reader

word count: 2.7k

genre: angst, fluff, slightly dystopian

warnings: character death/drowning, mentions of water (one passing mention of a typhoon and a very heavy focus on the ocean), light profanity

recommended song: when i was older by billie eilish

author’s note: Not only did the lyrics to the above song inspire this fic, but so did the general mood and sound of it :) I would recommend listening while you read, since I think it really adds to the atmosphere. My creativity took quite a while to cooperate on this one but I like how it turned out and hope you do as well, feedback is highly appreciated as always. Thanks to @astroboy-lele for her help beta-reading this (like 2 hours ago), and enjoy!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @hunjins​

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet 

The sleepy little fishing village you call home seems to sigh with the tides, waves lapping at the shore in a rhythm not unlike that of steady breaths. It’s the world’s way of inhaling the salty air, sometimes laced with the pungent scent of a fresh catch.

The sport itself is a life force here, the key to any sort of contact with the rest of civilization. Without it, the hill that the small town is nestled into might just swallow up the dozens of small brick buildings, reducing them to nothing but a memory. The murky waters would carry minuscule traces of its existence far and wide, but not even a name could break the surface.

Unfortunately, the village’s dependence on exporting fish leaves little room for the personal aspirations of its residents. At some point in your life, you’ll be called to assist with a certain aspect of the product’s distribution. The elders in charge find ways for even the most unskilled of hand and mind to participate, but they always save the hardest work for those who were born into it: the sailing families.

Quite literally, a love of the sea is in Huang Renjun’s blood.

His great-grandfather was around to see the beginnings of the seaside community, and he became the most famous fisherman known to the village by returning to the docks with large nets in tow, just bursting with sharp fins and thrashing tails. Those were the glory days, and generations later, the Huangs want their young son to follow in his footsteps, to become just as well-known for legendary angling expeditions.

But... he’s not really interested.

He would much rather take to the waves in a boat and chase the horizon, not bothering with casting a net or even a rod. To him, the ocean air is beyond suffocating, like a poison meant to expel any wanderlust from his lungs, to rip it from his soul. Renjun is a fiery spirit, and not even the crashing, slate-colored waters can dampen the adventurous spark burning bright and warm inside of him. It would take more than a typhoon to do so.

You admire that about him, too. How he holds a strong but steady resistance to the traditions of the village, the limited and meager expanse of the world that you’ve both lived in—no, been confined to—all your life.

Just think of the endless possibilities that await, beyond the hazy fog obscuring the fine line between land and sea. The faint shapes that loom in the distance, perhaps a trick of the eye but perhaps another sign of life besides you, seem so close but are still just out of your reach, teasing you both with what could lie outside this languid, ashen realm. Your heart races at the mere notion of such a thing.

The waves are impossibly blue when their image is reflected in Renjun’s dark eyes; you notice this one dreary afternoon as you let your feet dangle above the gentle ripples, sitting at the edge of one of the many docks that tangle through a mess of sailboats and fishing gear. The burnt orange of his threaded sweater stands out against the rest of the scenery, so monochromatic you sometimes swear the world is black and white.

He’s a splash of color, a splash of adventure and determination among a colorless mass of villagers who wouldn’t trade the way things are right now for anything. The dull, scuffed toes of his boots drag along the wooden planks as he trudges towards you, settling down at your side with a small gust of wind. Both anticipating and dreading the impending day when his father would teach him how to take to the seas and steer the boat that’s run in his family for generations, Renjun finds himself at the humble and rickety marina often. Anticipating because that knowledge would enable him to change the course of his own life on his own terms, and dreading because he knew of the harsh disapproval those actions would receive.

But still, Renjun stays right there on the dock next to you, diving past the shallows of his conscious mind and into the darkest, deepest abyss of his own thoughts, letting them bubble and sputter up and puff into the air like sea spray. If both your hearts are oceans of their own, they collide in this moment, as his ambitions and aspirations spill over into yours and settle on the seabed below. He’s chosen you to entrust these secrets with. You, the only other resident of the village with a familiar restlessness in your eyes when the sun disappears below the distant horizon, gaze wistful and longing to do the same.

And as if they’re the precious riches of a mythical swashbuckling pirate, you keep them there, each word a golden coin or sparkling gem hidden away in a long-lost treasure chest. The twilight sky that evening is the most vivid you’ve ever seen it, and daylight is fading fast by the time Renjun finishes telling you everything.

“I never knew there was someone who felt the same way I did about all this.”

The realization sets in late, just as the weathered surface you’re both perched on sways in the wind. You fear for a second that you might slip forward into the icy water; that’s how strong the breeze whipping through the air around you feels. That, or it’s due to the sheer force from your heart as it swells at finally meeting someone you’ve admired from afar for what feels like an eternity, ever since you understood what life was like and what it meant for you here.

Sure, Renjun’s grandfather may have been well-known in the past for one reason, but to you, Renjun is creating a legacy of his own for another, one of more than just adolescent rebellion and defiance. It’s one of undoubtable self-awareness, of an adamant refusal to conform to an existence he hadn’t chosen, and he’s finding a way to alter what he’s been seemingly destined for all his life.

“Me neither,” you shake your head, still in a small fraction of euphoric disbelief. “All that’s left to do now is stow away on a ship together in the dead of night, I suppose.” The comment is joking, but he takes it more seriously than you anticipated. The cloudy sky above brightens with his eyes.

You convene in shadowy alleys when no one’s looking, wasting away the hours as you mutually yearn for just a sliver of knowledge of the unknown, enthralled by the waves in the distance and what lies below and above and beside. Renjun sometimes whisks you away to a steep overlook that provides a panoramic view of the beach, the powdery sand so far beneath your bare feet gray enough to pass for finely packed pebbles. You find yourself melting into his embrace like the sea melts into the sky, blurring the already thin lines between air and water and between friendship and love. The way his fingers encircle your wrist with a curl like that of a cresting wave is telling enough on its own. His heart belongs to two bodies now.

You can’t help but notice all the similarities he bears to the element you’ve never lived a day of your life without seeing, without hearing the undulations of, without smelling or tasting the salty tang it brings to the air. Always moving, a force to be reckoned with, and evidently a possessor of the ability to travel far and wide on even the most fleeting of whims.

He’s utterly himself around the water, too. You’re almost positive he could effortlessly duck beneath the surface, take a breath, and his lungs would drink it in as if it was air. The only place he doesn’t feel like drowning is below the waves.

“Look!” Renjun points out an unfamiliar vessel tied down at the far end of the pier one day, sails torn in jagged lines as if they had been slashed by a larger-than-life creature. Upon closer examination, you find that the wooden bow of the sailboat is splintering and the windows into the cabin are shattered. The name carved into the hull is simply too faded for you to decipher the letters.

“This boat must’ve gone through hell and back,” you comment, your response delayed like an echo. “Who do you think it belongs to, anyway?”

He’s lost within a symphony of thoughts before he answers, “No one.”

Both incredulous and doubtful, you whip around to meet Renjun’s assured gaze. “No one ever comes and no one ever goes, it’s that simple. These same boats have been docked for years. They’ve belonged to the same families one decade after another.” The boy sighs, scanning the horizon for anything that might appear the slightest bit unusual. “The real question is where it came from.”

You have no answer for him.

“Regardless,” he speaks up again, quite matter of factly, “It’s ours now.”

“Ours?”

“Yes, ours. You said you’d sail away with me, right?”

It certainly isn’t the aspiration you would have envisioned yourself pursuing. You could have chosen to quietly obey, to live and work exactly as you were told by a community so rigid that you felt frozen to the bone. Not like the pleasant chill of the ocean, rather a restrictive pair of icy shackles, ever-tightening around your limbs and subduing your mutinous thoughts. But here you are, longing for a little something more both in life and with the only person that understands your heart’s deepest desires like they’re his own. And at their core, they are.

Without fear, Renjun takes a confident stride onto the boat’s deck, turning back to you and offering his hand as you mimic the action. “What are you waiting for?” He asks, eyes twinkling.

A warm thrill courses through your veins, growing hotter with each small preparation you make towards your inevitable departure. It’s an affair of many weeks, but at last you’ve gathered all of the necessary supplies and courage to carry out your plan.

The day finally comes, the day you’ll spring into action and take hold of your futures by the ropes, no one but yourselves telling you how or where to steer.

On the most moonlit night you’ve ever been alive to witness, you and Renjun both slip out from underneath your fraying comforters, unbeknownst to the rest of your households. Save for your two restless souls, the entire village is sound asleep, the unceasing lullaby of the tides casting its steadfast spell on bodies and minds like clockwork. Wooden floors so hollow and dusty that they barely creak under your weight, you successfully glide out your respective front doors in silence like translucent spirits.

No one else in the village had even acknowledged the foreign ship’s presence, but this shouldn’t surprise you, not in the slightest. The thick, colorless fog of life had long since settled around the shoulders of anyone and everyone who allowed it to, ensnaring them in a mind-numbing, monotonous routine. It blocks out the sun and the rain, the light and the darkness. It’s all so sickeningly the same. Empty eyes can’t pay any mind to their surroundings. Meanwhile, yours are full of hope, the brightest in the land.

In the distance, Renjun appears as vibrant and sprightly as ever. His form cascades down a flight of stone steps, leading from the sheer hills clustered with homes onto sea-level ground, and glides over the small dunes of sand separating you. He reaches the edge of the beach and your side a minute later, the thump of his heart keeping time with the tides. A nod, and you’re sprinting towards the docks, fingers trembling in excited anticipation.

It isn’t until after you’ve clumsily set sail that you see the ominous shadows of dark clouds laid out ahead, directly in your path. Even in the dead of night, a flash of distant lightning illuminates the world in a harshly jagged blaze for as far as the eye can see, as it strikes some unknown location out in front of the sailboat.

You’re certain the repairs you’ve spent days and nights working on with Renjun will be enough to keep the ship intact, despite the weather you’re sure to endure if you continue on this route. So you press on, missing the apprehension furrowing his eyebrows.

But because every force of nature has decided to convene against you both for reasons eternally unknown, the harsh winds weave their way in between the threads your careful hands had stitched on the canvas, meant to catch the breeze but being torn apart by it instead. Suddenly you’re struggling to hold on to your balance and you feel as flimsy as a leaf in a blustering current of cold, crisp wind.

Perhaps you should have practiced first. Renjun had not yet received a single ounce of training from his experienced father, and it was far from wise to leave the only life you’ve ever known without any knowledge of how to get to your next one. He’s trying to hide his panic now, wavering between the steering controls and warily glancing up at the gloomy midnight sky. One more flash of lightning, and all goes awry, all at once.

The water around you surges, as if physically drawn to the heavens, and more falls from above. Raindrops pelt down onto your arms and soak your hair, drenching the sails and filling the shallow hull almost instantly. Wave after towering wave crashes down, hard, and you’re no longer certain which way is up. About to lose your footing, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your middle like the snug hold of a life preserver.

Before all vitality can be lost and smothered by the raging ocean, a desperate Renjun holds fast to you, your thin clothes clinging to the damp skin of his hands. The storm is just too much, and there’s no way you’ll see the journey through like you had hoped. It’s difficult, excruciating even, to accept, and even more difficult for Renjun to let go of you like this. He’ll fight until the end, fight the fates and the invisible forces that life entails to hold you for just a few more seconds.

He won’t be able to live with himself, even in whatever afterlife may or may not come after the darkness he already sees, feels closing in on him, if he doesn’t sacrifice his last breath for a final moment of bliss, of you.

The sensation of Renjun’s wan lips pressing into yours overwhelms and surpasses all others, his palms tracing the edges of your figure like the tides trace the sandy shore. Urgently he draws you close up against him, trying his best to shield you from the inescapable terror of the sea. A lifetime’s worth of energy and emotion and passion is expended, making up for all the time in the world he wouldn’t and couldn’t have. The tang of saltwater meets your tongue, and you’re not sure if it’s the taste of him or of the ocean.

A weak tug on your palpitating heart, an internal scream in your ringing ears tells you that you should resent him for this, for propelling you forward in your apparently unachievable fantasies of living the life you wanted for yourself. But you don’t, you can’t. It’s no one’s fault, really. With this thought, a peaceful stillness washes over you amidst the chaos, and your awareness of the boy in your embrace fades steadily, slowly, then rapidly. Reality is getting paler, more black and white than ever, and you’re sinking further and further down towards the ocean floor miles below. The faint light of the moon becomes distorted from underneath the water, blurring with your failing vision. It all slips away, and then there’s nothing.

It’s a shame no one in the village takes notice of the two extra stars that blink into existence on that moonlit night, but yours and Renjun’s souls take their place among the rest, both a warning and a calling to anyone who dared attempt what you did. Two guiding lights pointing any other dreamers towards the hope of a better, brighter future.

[silverandsoulbonded]

A Life of Stories - Soulbonding and My Story

It’s the late 90’s. A tiny child sits in the grip of wonder on the carpet two feet from the old, analog television screen. The volume is turned way down on a Saturday morning, so as not to wake the parents. And Digimon: Adventure is playing.

That kid was me.

I spent the next several days telling anyone and everyone I knew about the trials and bravery of my favorite new friends on the TV. Taichi and his Digi-pals.

Every Saturday morning I tuned in with wrapped attention to check in on my friends. Because that is what they were. I could not explain it at the time, and looking back I see that I did not understand just how powerful my love for them was, but over the years I began to notice the disparity between my experience and that of others. The glazed looks I received when I tried to communicate just how much the “stories” around me meant to my heart and spirit.

As I grew, so too did my well of worlds. When it was not Digimon, it turned to Batman and the DC Animated Universe. Over the years, as things became harder and harder for me in an unsafe household, I would reach out to those stories for safety and comfort. In the dead of night, listening to shouts, I would silently pray for Batman to come in and save me. I would think about Static, from Static Shock, and his bravery. I would long for the Justice League to show me hope.

I grew up in a conservative Protestant Christian household, and I was quickly taught from the moment I could understand stories that they were not real. It seemed a strange double-standard to me, as we read of Jesus and his amazing feats, recorded centuries ago by the hands of men but somehow “different” than the other stories I consumed, which also taught me and affected me just as emotionally.

It would not be until adulthood that I could finally articulate this incongruity I felt, much less possess the bravery and personal freedom to think about it on my own terms. To set aside the pre-packaged “truth” I had been fed growing up in order to find my own fresh fruits of wisdom and meaning.

Stories. Stories are what sustain humanity. All we have are stories. Even the perceptions we store in our brains are only that. Perceptions. Stories. We can never truly know what an orange is, or who a person is. We only can know our perception of them, and the story of them that lives on within us.

And, sometimes, those stories speak to us in the most fantastic and magical of ways.

Fast forward to 2021.

I am an adult. A practicing witch and pagan. An artist and writer. I am functional and thriving. And I have an unusual family.

Some of the most important people in my life do not exist on the physical plane of this Earth quite the same as other friends of mine. They exist in the subtle realms of Dream and thought and wonder. Over time I have come to find many names for them. Spirits, guides, and “soulbonds”.

I began my foray into the community of “soulbonding” when I began to sense, or rather, acknowledge the living quality of some of the “characters” I was writing about. One character in particular, a being who introduced himself to me in a dream, had me particularly flummoxed. I called him Asura, and from the moment he entered my life through that dream, my entire world changed. It was akin to stepping onto a roller coaster car while it was still moving—except this roller coaster had no track and no limits. His entire presence permeated my life, my thoughts, my daydreams. I wrote about him, and it was my writing about him that led me to thoughts, questions, and explorations I would have never dared otherwise. By finding him, he led me to find myself, and for that I shall be forever grateful.

At some point, I, and even my closest friends, became aware of a “spookiness” about my dogged pursuit of this mysterious character. I started to know things about him and his world, and make connections in his story, that seemed to come out of nowhere but which all cohered together perfectly. Without a fault, I would learn tidbits about him that would suddenly fit with another thing I learned later, though I never had to strain to achieve such things. It was not so much that I was “creating” the story so much as “recording” it. There were elements of his story that overlapped with our world’s history and it was spooky as all get out when I learned about historical facts through his story and later found them to also be reflected in my own world, which has a similar timeline to his. A sort of “sibling world” to his.

We also noticed the tremendous power of my emotional connection to him and his friends. My boyfriend at the time even became jealous of Asura, though I assured him that was absurd. “Asura is just a story,” I would say. And my boyfriend thought the same yet he, and others, seemed unable to ignore the fact that there seemed to be something weird going on.

And, one day, with horror, I realized I was in love with Asura—fortunately, by that time I had since broken up with my boyfriend—but the idea terrified me. Unsurprisingly, this sent a conservative Christian “good kid” such as myself down into a spiral of questions and disbelief.

I felt the imposter syndrome. I thought, “I must be insane.” Yet, no one, myself included, could deny the reality of this connection I felt.

Over time, Asura and his friends began to speak to me. They guided me and provided loving support to me. I, at the time, figured I was either crazy or eccentric.

“Maybe this is a writer thing,” I thought.

And it was that thought that led me to soulbonding. I learned of other writers who also had their “characters” come alive to them. Alice Walker, author of the famed American work, The Color Purple, allegedly purported that she had received her story straight from the characters’ mouths one afternoon, during which she sat down to tea with them and learned their tale. And that is when I found a forum site called “The Living Library” (now defunct), and learned the term “soulbonding”.

In that community I found others who echoed my story in various ways. Deep personal connections to entities from other worlds, many of whom they found depicted in the flourishing ecosystem of thought and imagination, stories, that surrounds the human race. Others, discovered their unconventional friends via dreams, visions, or odd circumstances just like myself. One person I met had actually found one such friend first, in this instance a version of Edward Elric from “Full Metal Alchemist”, before learning years later—with a start I imagine—that Edward actually had an entire manga and anime about him.

I say “version” because another amazing phenomenon I discovered was the occurrence of many instantiations of people, characters, from infinite worlds, all with slight variances from one another. That is when I was introduced to the idea of Multiverse Theory and Many Worlds Theory.

As my personal investigations led me down various spiritual rabbit holes, and eventually led me to spirit-working and witchcraft, I found more and more ideas that seemed to jive with my experience.

I discovered what are colloquially called “pop pantheons” in occult circles. Pantheons of spirits and deities who connect to pop culture figures in human society—and even figures from “fiction”. And there is a whole, thriving community of people who lead successful, fulfilled, and meaningful spiritual lives working with these entities. I learned that reality and “truth” are not objective like I had been taught so long ago. And I finally understood MY truth—all we have are myths and stories. Experience is subjective and the only measure of meaning and truth we have is in the effects we see in our own lives.

With tremendous wonder and happiness, and even love, I have seen the effects my unconventional friends and family have wrought in my life. Asura is my familiar spirit now, and I have a whole host of other beings whom I love. Some come from “personal gnosis”, or unique experience, such as Asura. Others are beings who have come to me from the vast world of collective Dreaming that permeates our world, evident in media sources, in the form of stories.

I still have moments of doubt. I sometimes wonder, “Gee-golly-whiz, am I NUTS?” But then I remember that my truth exists only in my own experience. My ethereal family brings me happiness, growth, and meaning. And there really is no difference between my relationship with them and the relationship I had with Jesus so long ago. Every experience is real to me, and brings with it change and good. And that is what matters.

In this blog I intend to share my experience, in hopes that it can offer a beacon to others in similar situations. Every person’s experience is unique, though I hope mine can at least offer some hope, understanding, and love to another.

Cheers.

And happy story-telling.

- Cosmic

[askhubertvonvestra]

Which Genshin Impact Vision (elemental abilities) would fit the Black Eagles?

It’s strange, but I do believe this will vary from those elements used by Benders. I imagine it’s due to the perceived facets of the elements that go beyond a simple definition.

Bernadetta von Varley: Dendro. There may be an insightfulness typically associated with those in possession of this Vision that one may not see in Bernadetta at a glance, given her isolated nature. However, I would argue that she is able to find perceive more than others might on account of her prolonged time spent alone with the ability to reflect in peace. She often brings a unique perspective to matters that one might not have considered otherwise, and I do believe that warrants the interest of a being claiming to rule wisdom. As well, the abilities provided by this Vision would cater to her interests in the most unusual plants, I should think. Poisonous creatures would likely strike her as adorable.

Caspar von Bergliez: Pyro. Largely on account of his fearlessness in the face of a challenge, he would make a natural choice for the Lady of Fire to bestow her Vision upon. Not that he would require it, of course. His passion and fervor are more than sufficient without supposedly divine intervention. It is also rather fitting that Pyro can easily interact with every other variety of Vision within this realm. I’ve not met anyone yet who can’t find a way to collaborate with Caspar, despite his boundless enthusiasm that some may find overwhelming. His friendship with Linhardt has shown how adaptable and accommodating he can be of people who, on the surface, appear as his very opposite.

Dorothea Arnault: Anemo. A free spirit is a defining characteristic of Dorothea’s, and I’m certain the being overseeing these Visions would recognize that swiftly. His decision not to smother his people with oppressive rule and permit them worship if they so choose would also resonate with her, no doubt. The talents of Anemo are not as immediately apparent as more combative and responsive Visions, yet the capacity it does have is undeniable should one care to notice. With Dorothea’s own talents concealed behind her showmanship for those who gloss over her based on assumptions, only to later realize their mistake, Anemo is a promising reflection of her character.

Edelgard von Hresvelg: Cryo. The power of prismatic ice, applied in any manner of protection or devastating attacks, is a perfect parallel to Her Majesty’s own considerable strength. Tsaritsa, Archon of Cryo, is one who may also understand the decisions that Lady Edelgard has had to make for the better of humanity. Hers is a compassionate heart that she was forced to harden in the name of her people, so that peace may truly be secured and not merely pretended at by false gods and greedy nobles. Of course, her propensity for powerful strikes for staggering physical damage does support the elemental reactions of this Vision neatly.

Ferdinand von Aegir: Pyro. Similarly to Caspar, he brings a formidable drive to whatever task he undertakes that would presumably still appeal to the entity associated with this vision. His temper would likely draw in the Lady of Fire as well, given her reputation, but one should expect a self-proclaimed god to be so short-sighted. In particular, his ability to change as a situation demands complements the elemental reactions for Pyro. Large damage in a single blow, steady damage as determined by surrounding events, or even a shield to guard allies... Yes, the versatility of Pyro suits Ferdinand quite well.

Hubert von Vestra: Geo. For this realm, Geo seems most suitable for my disposition. The extremely limited range of elemental reactions aside, it seems that a Vision is provided largely due to the individual themselves, unlike the magic of Fódlan. Between the Geo Archon’s own attentive and methodical habits and the protective qualities of Geo, this would be chosen for me rather than being my choice. I’m confident I could find a way to apply this Vision to my combat strategies for the best outcome nonetheless.

Jeritza von Hrym: Electro. The fact that these are no longer being distributed by the Archon, and indeed actively hunted down, almost makes it more ideal for Jeritza, in all honesty. His is a rare resolve, after all. One that arguably exceeds the self-importance and aggrandized air of this Vision’s Archon. She could attempt to wrench it from him if she wished to, and I doubt she would succeed. The emphasis on power and indomitable force affiliated with the Electro Vision does lend itself to Jeritza’s own combative prowess, however. He simply did not let the mentality of that overpower him as wholly as the conceited Archon for Electro did. The powers resulting from Electro are notably more tactical than the Death Knight might employ... Yet I believe Jeritza himself could find them useful.

Linhardt von Hevring: Hydro. Not simply for the healing abilities found with Hydro, this Vision is exceptional for Linhardt. Its reliance on elemental reactions with other Visions to have significant effects in combat would please him, I’m certain. The more distance between him and battle, the better. I presume he learned Physic for that reason. The commitment to equal judgment by the Hydro Archon would also speak to his own nature, I believe. He cares little for the empty perceptions or accusations of others, but he would accept criticisms that had any measure of value to him.

Petra Macneary: Anemo. Much like Dorothea, her open-minded and free nature is undeniable. It is uncharacteristically passive as a Vision for Petra, similarly to how Geo is for me, but she is likewise more than capable of compensating for that by her own merits in battle. I imagine the abilities it provides her would blend seamlessly into her agile fighting style. Truthfully, it would likely be a sight to behold. Her path to freedom for herself and her people has been complex in several aspects, yet she never relents. It is this commitment to free will and the human spirit all people share that empowers her, both in regards to this Vision as well as her position as Princess of Brigid.

[woolandcoffee]

2, 4 and 8 for the polytheist asks!

2. What draws you to your Gods? What do you like about them?

Goodness, where to even begin. I don't know that there's any one thing that draws me to my gods. Brighid, certainly, has always been present in my life. As annoying as some people find this sentiment, I personally believe that Brighid chose me, and the rest, as they say, is history. Though it iss also true that I was raised on a lot of Gaelic folklore and fairytales, so when I realized that I wanted to take a polytheist approach to religion, that seemed like the obvious choice. And while I did explore other options, I always ended up right back in the same place.

As far as what I like about my gods... I'm once again not even sure where to begin. How do I explain what I like about the dawn, or the sound of wind through the mountains, or the feeling of a poem that sticks to your heart? I like all these things about my gods, and so many more that are impossible to put into words.

4. How do you picture the universe? What is your idea of its cosmology?

I was wondering if someone would ask this one, the Big Boy. At the outset, I will say that my cosmological perception is squishy, and always open to change. For example, something occurred to me as recently as a few days ago that has given me a new way of looking at things. The mysteries of the universe aren't exactly concrete, y'know?

With that out of the way, it is commonly accepted knowledge that there is no creation story in Gaelic mythology. Or, if there was, it didn't survive Christianization. Either way, the mythos describes waves of different groups of gods and people coming to Ireland from abroad, with no mention of how Ireland or the people arriving to the island came into existence.

Now, I've talked on this blog before about how it isn't entirely accurate to say that there is no creation story in Gaelic mythology. While yes, there is nothing as solid as "God created the world in seven days," there are stories referencing an Cailleach as an earth-forming figure. These stories, to my knowledge, come primarily from Gaelic areas in the Highlands of Scotland, and usually involve an Cailleach creating mountains or islands by intentionally placing or accidentally dropping stones from her basket or apron. It's hard to say how old these stories are, and they are certainly a far cry from saying explicitly that an Cailleach formed the world (often the world is already there and she's adding to it), but I personally find them very intriguing. In my own practice, I have come to view an Cailleach as a primordial force responsible for at least some of creation. She has formed at least some of the earth, and presides over the darkness within which life incubates. She may not be the single driving force behind creation, but she is certainly a creator.

Beyond that, Gaelic polytheism teaches us that there are three realms - earth, sky, and sea. What these realms are, and what they represent, isn't always set in stone. Based off of folklore, the teachings of GaelPol elders like Erynn Rowan Laurie, and my own experiences, I currently view earth, sky, and sea, as both the literal essential elements of life (land to live on/eat from, air to breath, watch to drink), and as larger spiritual realms in their own right. The realm of sea is cthonic. Spirits dwell below the waves, below the fairy mounds, within the realm of sea. It is a mythic, deeply primordial place. All life came from it, and all life will inevitably return to it. Importantly, though the word used to refer to this realm is "sea," I personally believe that all waters, salt and fresh, are part of and portals to this realm.

Sky, a reflection of sea, is more ouranic or celestial. I'll admit that this is the realm I struggle the most to connect with and describe, perhaps because it is so lofty and harder to physically access. Additionally, while so many traditions reserve sky as the place of the gods, that doesn't necessarily hold true for Gaelic polytheism. Our gods are described as interacting more with the land or water. While they do interact with wind and weather, and can be found in high places like the mountains, it isn't as straightforward as the gods all living in Mount Olympus. However, this does seem to be the place of higher beings, where things like divine inspiration are formed. More on this in a moment.

Finally, the realm of earth is as it sounds. It is the mortal plane where we reside. It is a sacred, living thing that takes care of us, and that we have a responsibility to tend to in return.

Lastly, if we're talking about cosmology, I would be remiss if I did not mention that idea of fire-in-water, the idea that fire mixed with water is the catalyst for life. To my understanding, this is a common theme in Indo-European creation stories, and it is a motif that can be seen in several Gaelic myths and pieces of folklore. Sometimes the water is the sea or a sacred well, sometimes the fire is a human figure receiving knowledge from a god, or hazelnuts of wisdom falling into a pool. In the past, I was tempted to see this concept of fire as some kind of nebulous fourth realm. However, I have recently enjoyed the interpretation as fire coming from the realm of sky, and mixing with the realm of sea, to create the third realm of earth. There's no great historical evidence for it, but I find it interesting nonetheless.

8. What are some of your stronger UPG’s?

Rapid fire:

Brighid as guardian and tender of the original flame from which all other fires stem.

An Cailleach as the First Ancestor.

An Cailleach and Manannán as somehow interconnected. This isn't totally UPG because there is some folkloric evidence pairing the two, but it's weak enough that I'm comfortable putting it here.

Thank you for the questions, Nonnie!