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Agapor had sent the great storms of Yana, the Magra Oversoul, down upon the cliffs by the falls of the Dreaming Seas. There the very fringes of Phantaia were most vulnerable. For beyond its falls the rocks were no longer protected by the seas. Below the misty waste of its lonesome cliffs there remained only a gray abyss, wherein nothing but a quiet space had dwelt since the birth of the world. Here the Dreaming Seas could not reach, nor guard its brother’s lands from the evil that crept up from below. For Phantaia’s wide cliffs of oaks stood exposed in that place, hanging precipitously above the emptiness of Wendalia, looking out across the ominous spaces that stretched away, back into the dark depths of that formless infinity.
Below the tranquil forests, the dark storms of Yana began to boil and seethe, drifting up from the empty waste below. For the Magra Oversoul had come to consume that virgin wood. Her vast vortex, with great wheels of clouds and fog, began to spin and churn angrily in the depths, until from out of her gaping mouth there blossomed forth a monstrous mass of clouds and storms, towering up and twisting forth in ominous shapes and tortured forms.
Above the heads of the wooded cliffs, a towering tempest soon formed, within whose walls flashed great bolts of blue lightning, crisscrossing in webs of chaotic light across the skies. From the shadowy gray depths, the colder clouds belched up a blast of violent winds, which bore their full fury upon the terrified trees above. The unbending oaks then began to creak and sway as the terrible tumult fast approached.
Her storm front soon encircled the trees, which had stood so bravely upon the rocky heights. Rain and hail, ice and sleet flew down from the swirling blue clouds, as a vicious gale beat upon the bent and wailing trees.
The ancient oaks, which had formed an impenetrable gateway upon the cliffs, were torn limb from limb in the violent storm, their trunks and roots yanked away from the rocky face. Slung up into the clouds, and shredded in the Heavens, their splintered remains were then thrown down into the mouth of the insane Magra Mother, where they were consumed and devoured within the belly of the angry and churning sky.
All about the borders of Phantaia was heard the horrible roar of the savage destruction endlessly rent upon the woods. The ripping away of limbs and roots could be heard from far away, such that the insatiable hunger of Yana had caused the distant trees to shake and tremble in terror. For to them alone would be heard the screaming of the trees, their innocent brethren, crying out in horror in the depths of that terrible gale.
Yana’s storms next turned their rage upon the stony face, tearing at the dark rocks of Phantaia. Monstrous boulders were ripped away by her ferocious winds, until great hunks of stone and earth were torn from the cliff face. The forces of the storm had penetrated the very firmament of Phantaia, clawing and tearing at its earth with relentless wind and rain, until wide swaths of the land succumbed at last to her violence. Yana sucked the rock and soil down into the gaping black orifice of her boiling tempest, which turned brown with the blood of the earth as it spun about in the endless waste of barren space below.
For many ages the fringes of Phantaia and the forces of Yana had fallen upon each other in unending war. Yet parts of the rock and forest had bravely resisted the devouring mouth of that evil. The storms had returned with even greater fury, pummeling the rocks and earth about the highest cliffs so that no trees would grow there, save the crooked husks of once-grandiose oaks who alone had somehow defied their wrath. Yana then wrapped her great arms around Phantaia’s distant fringes, out into the infinite gulf. The wide storm front pushed deeper into the lands of Phantaia itself, tearing away at the new green growth that had sprouted there.
But like the Dreaming Seas, Phantaia had been created by the Primordial Ones. It had been forged within the fires of the Creative Flame that yet burned brightly within the Immortal Clay. And so, at its heart was it truly impenetrable and immutable like its father.
But so too was it sustained like the seas about its shores, by a mysterious enchantment that evil could not yet see or harm. And it had drawn to itself, by its own inherent wisdom, a vast and collective force, untamed and yet still unknown, born of water, earth, air, and light, and a will for life, self-sustained by the inner essence of its immeasurable spirit. What secrets Phantaia held within its depths, those storms could not know. For Yana soon found she could not penetrate its proud and hopeful heart, nor devour the lands that lay beyond its outermost woods and ranges.
Thus, after an age, the land and trees of Phantaia had persevered against the wrath of that terrible Magra. And so, like the seas, there remained a truce between the hand of good and the fist of evil. Though much was taken from that forest by the viciousness of Yana’s hunger, much was replaced by the timeless growth of young trees, the pushing up of fresh earth, and the birth of new life in that magical realm, sustained by the spirit of the Immortal Clay and his son the Rock Eternal.
Yet it was the Sacred Seed that had fathered the forest, who would not allow Phantaia to be destroyed by Yana, nor its children to die in vain by her hateful hand. Its young trees had gathered in force upon the fringes of that wilderness, and by their limber saplings, newly born, bravely defied the winds and rain, and the dreadful carnage of the dead and dying that fell before them in the endless storm.
In time, they too would grow upon the splintered cliffs as seedlings, long ago shed from the boles of their dying parents, which had in ages past perished in the moldy ruin and wreckage of that storm-torn realm. And so had newer oaks risen, yet again, to grow valiantly upon the cliffs, defying the violent storms of Yana, and protecting Phantaia’s inner children by their rugged vanguard.
But the endless battle with those storms and winds raged on, until in time there remained a perpetual no-man’s land of weathered rocks and nightmarish trees, which yet clung to the faces of its blackened cliffs. It was a blasted landscape thrown into constant dread and terror—a battered middle-realm where the storms raged on through countless ages, to torture the living trees that had yet remained there. The mounds and mountains of rock and soil soon turned dark as pitch. The trees twisted into horrific shapes. Only a broken wasteland then remained, where nothing grew but the stern and defiant remnants of worn boulders and ancient plants, long ago bent and broken by the relentless winds of the Magra Overlord.
In time that land became distorted and unreal, molded by the unending tortures that Yana had wrought upon it. Within this treacherous realm of violence, the brighter spirits of that wood would not tread. For this undead place became a haunted space of forgotten dreams and forlorn dreamers who, lost within its blasted landscape of stumps and logs, were doomed to perish alone within its maddening mists. For all that came to dwell there were eventually cast into the oblivion of its tempests, or lost for all time, buried in its endless canyons and caverns of waste and rot.
Yet hidden within the ancient trees and dark soil of that black and cursed land dwelt many tortured spirits, which had come to possess it wholly. These demonic spirits had hid amongst the wreckage and the ruins of an earlier time, when those rocks had been a part of the Realms of Oblivion. So had the evil spirits of that brutal realm come to haunt Phantaia. For in the ancient days of the conflict of storm and sea, when the house of the Limitless Void had fallen, a part of his most distant domain was spared destruction by the seas, and cast up and onto the new lands that would become Phantaia.
Here, the last remnants of that evil kingdom, its many shattered keeps and castles, graves and tombs, yet survived as mossy monuments to its former glory. But so too had its sleeping monsters and hidden beasts come to haunt the silent wastes of Phantaia. For many demons of might, fallen in ancient wars waged in those lands, had remained buried under its vast piles of rubble and refuse.
These tragic armies of ancient conflicts would now possess the rocks and trees of Phantaia’s farthest realms. Asleep in timeless nightmares, alone and undisturbed, these demon-spirits now returned to sleep, dreaming of past wars, and marred by the memory of the many ev
ils they had inflicted upon the innocent in countless ages past.
These phantoms of the ignoble dead, the last fallen children of the Primordial Ones, would haunt the land until, summoned forth by their master, they would rise again to wage their insidious war once more. For they would soon turn their foul hatred upon Phantaia, creeping into its interior to extinguish the light of the living flame that had come into it, and seeking to slay the last of the children of the Primordial Ones.
This grim domain of demonic spirits was called Avaras, the land of the fading light. For this was the name given to Phantaia itself, long ago in its youthful days, before the coming of its trees and lights, when there had wrapped about its shores the eerie fog of the Twilight Mist. And so for him was it named the Forest of Twilight.
But in time, the Mist had fled to its interior, guarding the hidden powers that had gathered there with his lavender mists. The darkened half of that haunted forest had remained behind, sundered from its brighter living half that lay within its interior. For in Avaras never again would the faded lights of dreaming twilight, nor the spirit of hope borne by the shining lights of brighter days, nor even the lengthening shadows of the night’s satin sheet, dare dwell in that cursed and evil wood. And so had the malicious trees of Avaras been separated from their nobler brethren that lived within its peaceful heart.
The cursed spirits that now crept within Avaras had long ago possessed its once-living trees with their demonic spirits. And so had Avaras became a haunted forest filled with ancient hazels and sinister oaks, whose pale eyes and bearded mouths peered up into the wicked skies, and scowled. Yet these dark trees would remain a bulwark against the never-ending destruction of Yana, whose fearful might still boiled about its phantom fringes.
So had the strange wilderness of Phantaia remained in this divided state until in time the evil that hid within Avaras would rise up again against its sibling trees, seeking to obliterate the source of the shining light that had long sustained them.
The Child of the Sea
The Dreaming Seas had grown full and wide, gently rising and falling with the tide. Rocking back and forth in the deep, the waves to some rhythmic heart did beat. While that weary world, weighted by despair, waited for hopeful tidings the seas might bear.
In its depths had dwelt the lonely An, queen-of-the-seas, undisturbed in her timeless tomb. For in the gloom of her silent chamber, she fell once more into endless slumber, disturbed by dreams of things yet to be, strange visions of futures, fleeting and foreboding, yet vaguely seen. But within her mind there bloomed a visage, whose spirit blossomed forth a prescient image.
For in the darkness of her faded dreams appeared the unnumbered faces of her children. As they came to her, she saw a caravan of innumerable spirits walking through death’s countless doors. But their lives acted out on the stage of time revealed to her the sad future that lay in store.
She saw them briefly flash before her, like a dim reflection upon a shining pool, until their faded shadows hovered there awhile, and were gone. Into her dreams returned the cold and empty night once more. For within her crept the constant sorrow she had before. She yearned with all her heart and spirit, within her omniscient mind, to weave their memory upon the empty Loom of Time, whose great wheel now about her turned.
Thus, in the heart of those seas, long ago was woven this tragic Tapestry of Woe, whose sorrowful tale all would know, and none might soon forget.
In the depths of the ocean was heard a mournful cry, as of a child alone and afraid. Distant at first, drowned by the roar of the crashing waves, its sound grew louder and louder until it echoed across the surface of the waters. As the song of the seas fell silent, the whispering winds of the woods also grew still, until under the gloomy skies only the pitiful cries of that child could be heard.
Birthed in those wild waters thus came the child named Ana, the heart-of-the-sea, lovely daughter of the dreaming mother An. In a warm and gentle embrace was she held by her mother, enjoined to her heart, and with her tender love entwined. She was the one and only child of that queen-of-the-seas. And of the timeless beauty of her mother’s wondrous waters was she made.
Though of her mother’s spirit was she filled, she was unlike her mother in many ways. Like the Sacred Seed, she was born of the living flesh, the Vatar. So was she, the silver-one, born into this world, separate from the ocean’s sphere and forever sundered from the cursed prison of the seas.
But Ana had been given her mother’s great heart and spirit. So, mother-like was she named. For the heart of An and Ana had come from the mother-seas, that which Agapor had broken. And so, by its rupture had the seas risen up against him, casting him away from the sea’s beloved child. From that heart the waters of this world had then flowed, spilling into it their many blessings and curses.
This world would have been destroyed by those waters had the Dreaming Seas by their compassionate will not held them back. For that fractured heart, like a hollow cauldron, now held the last of her spirit. This heart-space was called the Luffa, the Sacred Heart, which she gave to her daughter An. She then gave it to Ana upon her birth. And Ana would come to treasure it above all other things in this world.
But within her heart had remained the last of the Sacred Waters. For they alone now held the life-giving force of the Essence Eternal within their enchanted dew. And so within Ana lay hidden the last of His great Hope for the world. She would covet those waters, holding them close to her breast, though she knew not their strange purpose. Thus was the Luffa, the heart that beat within her, a thing most sacred.
But her mother had not given her the vessel of her heart, only the vehicle to carry its precious waters into this world. For they could flow from no other. And so were those waters a gift to be given, yet never received. Both these treasures were given by An to Ana with deep love and care, and yet with the forethought and future desire that she would someday gift them with enduring love to another in their time of need.
But those mysterious waters would not be tamed, nor bound forever, by the heart of the sea. For they desired to flow wild and free, bold and boundless in this world. Fully unleashed upon it, only then could they bind the children of this world to their singular power and purpose, which few would ever comprehend.
Mother An had held her daughter Ana close to her, until the time when she could hold her no more. For it was not Ana’s fate to remain in that watery grave, or to lay beside her mother in everlasting dreams. Storm clouds rose upon the horizon, until the threatening sound of thunder and the faraway flash of lightning drifted down upon the ocean floor. And the troubled skies seemed to grow dark again with the lengthening of an ominous shadow, cast down from the mantle of Heaven.
Yet the seas remained calm, silent and serene, until with gentle hands they reached down through the crystalline depths and gently pulled the crying child from her mother’s arms. Out of that sea-tomb the child named Ana rose forth until she was thrown up from the ocean depths, wrapped in a red amaranth which blossomed forth upon the surface of the seas. Carried upon the dark waters, drifting in the arms of the ocean, the child lay quiet and sleeping once more, rocked gently back and forth by the loving waves.
Adrift alone, by currents swift and strong, the child asleep upon that wide-petalled bloom was carried far from harm in the silent gloom. On her mother’s endless tears she floated, until her little form found its way to the shining shores of gloomy Phantaia.
Upon a lonely stretch of beach, the surf of the Dreaming Seas had now departed, depositing their tiny cargo upon the sands of that quiet shore. The petals wrapped about her melted into the sea. And the attentive tides retreated from the sands in which she lay, leaving her wrapped in the raiment of her mother’s silver pall. So was she was clothed, like the glistening waters that encircle this world, this tiny pale-faced shining girl.
But Ana could not awaken as she slept upon the warm sand, so that it seemed within a single moment a thousand ages passed again.
From out of the s
till ocean rose a gentle breeze. The breath of the seas now moved upon the surface of the waters and across the face of the child, blowing her dark hair from her cheeks. That whispering wind then moved beyond the shore, and through the trees of Phantaia. The leaves upon them softly stirred, until was heard from within some eerie voice of the forest calling out from some darker place, deeper within its haunted wood. And so was heard by the seas the woods’ own returning cry.
Hearing that haunting sound, the daughter of the dreamer awoke, slowly opening her eyes. She stood upon the sand and looked about her. Before her stretched an endless shoreline whose bright beaches lay before a wild and wasteful sea. Its gray waters lay shrouded in clouds, bathed in sea foam, white and frothy.
Behind her stood the tall trees of Phantaia, whose wet limbs curled and twisted up into the Heavens, like the bent arms of towering black giants. The huge oaks stood before the dark woods like an ominous wall, thick, dark, and impenetrable. Ana wrapped her shroud about her, and walked upon the windy shore, stumbling through the cold sands which filled the gaps between her toes. The seas, whipped up by those winds, sent forth a cool spray of salt and sand across her face and arms. As she beheld the unimaginable space of that ominous shoreline, she began to feel scared and uncertain.
Deep within the forest of Phantaia there had arisen a mist. Its eerie tendrils sank down from the tops of the trees and crept out across the beaches. Its lavender lights seemed to cast strange shadows as it flowed past her. Her little form was soon entangled in its ghostly fingers which, whipped up by the winds, swirled about her as if to embrace her as its own. The strange fog then stretched its wide blanket out upon the waters, until it lay upon the surface of the sand and sea.
As she walked through the dense cloud, Ana found herself wandering upon the rocks by the edge of the sea. There she stopped to rest, looking down into the dark waters of a tide pool. She saw her reflection—her dark hair, thick and tangled, hanging down about her little face. Her violet eyes sparkled like crystals, as the tears that formed within them flowed forth, down her cheeks.
But as Ana looked deeper within the pool, she saw the solemn face of another being upon its surface. It was the soft face of her mother. She then heard the moaning of the sea upon the distant winds. And she knew it to be her mother’s own voice, calling her from afar.
Ana crept down to the water’s edge and knelt, trying to speak to the image she had seen. But the eerie mist grew thick about her, until the seas were hidden by its fog. Then there rose from the shadowy depths of the ocean a great fish, black and warty, covered with the weeds and slime of the sea. It bobbed upon the surface, staring at Ana with its great glassy eyes. Ana rose to her feet in fear, and began to back away from the water’s edge.
With its thick broad lips, the fish-beast said, “Do not fear, child of the sea. For I am Lavanc, a servant of the Dreaming Seas. Your mother An has sent me to find you. For I am her messenger.” Ana hesitated. She then turned to look curiously at the great fish.
The Lavanc then said, “Your mother, who dwells far away in the heart of the sea, wishes only that you know of her, and of her great love for you. For you shall forever be in her heart and mind.”
Tears began to well up in her eyes, as she sat for a moment thinking of her mother. Ana then said to the Lavanc, “Great Lavanc, I have seen my mother’s face upon the surface of the waters. She calls for me. And I desire to return to her in the depth of the seas. Will you take me to her?”
The Lavanc rose higher from the waters, drawing its monstrous form close to Ana, saying, “Never again may you journey to the land of your mother, or dwell in the gentle lands that sleep beneath the waves. For only those doomed to the eternal rest that is death, may travel to that realm. For them alone, her waters call. All others shall seek her in vain. Go forth into the woods and leave the sleeping seas forever. For great danger haunts this dreadful shore. And in the forests of Phantaia shall you now find your fate.”
Ana wept at these words until she heard in the distance the sound of thunder. She looked into the skies and saw from afar dark rolling clouds, rising up from a swiftly-approaching storm. Violent rain and wind had begun to drift towards her from the heights above the seas, as an immense shadow stretched its ominous fingers towards her.
The Lavanc spoke one last time, “My child, do not fear for your future. Leave the realm of your mother’s house behind and go deep into the woods, far away from this place. For it is your mother’s desire that you find your way to the heart of Phantaia.”
As the winds whipped up, the Lavanc began to disappear beneath the waves. But as it did, it called out to her, “Leave the seas, Ana. Run before the approaching storm. For it is conceived of an evil will that seeks to do you great harm.”
Ana ran across the rocks, and up the dunes of the beach. But as she looked back towards the sea, she saw that the Lavanc had disappeared. All that remained was the turbulent waters of a rising tide. She gazed at the troubled skies and saw that the black and ominous clouds were now streaming overhead, drifting across the beaches, and were strangely quiet. Looking over the tops of the trees, she saw the sudden flash of lightning, and felt the rumbling of a distant thunder in the humid air. The ancient trees of Phantaia seemed to stand deadly still, as if in a state of horror from the sight of the approaching tempest.
Ana ran along the shore, seeking to find a way into the forest. But the black trees had formed an unending wall of trunks and limbs. The skies suddenly belched forth great blasts of cold wind and rain down upon her as she ran. Buffeted by violent gusts, she was tossed back and forth on the beach, until she was thrown down onto the sand. She then rose again, fleeing down the shoreline, past great piles of debris and timber. Dunes of shifting sand were thrown high into the air by the wild gusts of the storm, stinging her eyes, while her hair and dress were slung about in the gale.
Tossed about by the storm, she ran on, trying to reach the safety of the dark woods. But she saw no opening into them. For their colonnade of thick trunks stood side by side, impenetrable, their limbs closely intertwined.
Webs of lightning now snaked their way across the dark skies above her, when suddenly, from out of the misty Heavens, a great bolt of lightning struck down upon the heads of the tree line, felling a great oak. The ancient tree crashed into the swells of the dunes in one great heap of shattered limbs and bark. Split in two, its rotten trunk lay before her, black and wormy.
Ana screamed, as she fell back into the dunes. But as she climbed to her feet, she gazed upon the fallen tree. She saw that buried within its darker trunk lay a bright white woody core. But as she looked upon the place where the great tree had stood, a black opening had now appeared, leading deeper into the woods. She looked into its shadowy depths and she shook with fear. For hidden within that haunted forest, she sensed the presence of some unknown being—a peculiar presence whose penetrating eyes seemed to peer into the very depths of her spirit.
She could perish at the hands of the storm, or flee into the mysterious woods to face that strange presence. As she crawled across the beach towards the trees, the ragged eye of the storm above her had gathered into one great towering thunderhead. But as she gazed upon it, she froze in fear. For the storm had thrust its evil mouth down towards the beach to swallow her. In horror, she then turned back toward the seas, crying out for her mother, begging and pleading for her life.
Suddenly, out of the shadows of the monstrous trees, there appeared within its depths a ghostly figure. It began to take shape, gathering itself into a new form, until all at once it erupted out of the forest in one mighty leap, falling into the swales before the tree line. Seeing it running at full speed towards her, Ana fell back into the sand in shock, screaming in terror.
The large, white, four-legged beast then came upon her, encircling her in a violent fashion. But this was no monster, but a mighty horse, tall and proud. The strong stallion had a coat, white as sea foam. Its thick mane, wild and tangled, flowed out from its long neck, cast abo
ut by the storm’s winds. And a short but shining horn grew upon its head.
The clouds and rain above had suddenly ceased, as if in fear, uncertain and confused. The great horse stopped and looked down at the small girl. But Ana had risen to her feet, seeking to flee from the strange creature. As she turned to run, she heard its powerful hooves beating upon the sands, and the snorting of its large nostrils. The seas and mists about them then grew still. But the evil eye of the storm had now turned its curious gaze upon that powerful beast of the woods.
Ana looked into the warm face of that creature, and sensed the presence of a kind and gentle spirit. The great horse beat its hoof upon the sands again, as if to signal her to come to it. She hesitated. But seeing the great stallion unmoving, she grabbed its wide, white mane in her tiny hands and pulled her body onto its broad back.
Ana and the horse fled down the beach and across the dunes, winding their way up a narrow swale, until they stood before the tall cathedral-like opening of the black woods of Phantaia. Above their heads, the storm had gathered its forces once again. But Ana, with all her strength, had pulled back upon the horse’s mane to stop him at the gloomy doorway. The beast stood still and quiet, almost frozen, as in a trance. Ana then peered into the black opening. And a terrible fear filled her spirit again. For the haunted trees within seemed possessed of some ancient spirit.
The storm erupted over their heads, bursting forth with great cracks of lightning and thunder, which lit up the tops of the trees, reflecting off their wet limbs in flashes of bright silver. A swirling tempest of rain and wind poured down around them, so that the seas almost disappeared behind a veil. Ana then looked up and saw, in the dark swirling clouds, a gigantic pair of claw-like hands, descending down from the dark skies to grab her. She screamed, tugging upon the mane of the pale horse until he lunged forward, diving head first through the gloomy doorway, and into the dark woods of Phantaia.