Chapter 2Myth of the Moon Goddess
2
Myth of the Moon Goddess
Balancing the tea tray carefully, Elowyn nudged open the towering twin doors of the castle’s royal library with her hip, entering carefully so as to not spill a single drop. Stepping inside, Elowyn noticed it was emptier than usual. Normally, scholars of the Seven Spires traveled from all realms of Neramyr to frequent this place, hoping to study the ancient texts it housed, the royal library now seemed eerily quiet.
Eriden’s royal library was renowned across the seven realms for its vast collection of knowledge. The fey of Eriden placed great importance on learning, evident by the stacks of written work meticulously documented from the New Age, and even a substantial array of artifacts preserved from the Old Age.
Information about the Old Age was scarce, predating the establishment of the seven realms and the very existence of Neramyr itself. However, there were a select number of artifacts from this ancient era preserved by the first fey. These invaluable texts and scrolls were housed in the cellars beneath the library, safeguarded by extensive wards which prevented unlawful access and ensured nothing ventured out undesired.
Most historians and chroniclers speculate that the feylands of the Old Age were imbued with pure and unclaimed divine magic. It is believed that this boundless magic roamed freely throughout the feylands while vile creatures thrived on it without restraint. Historical depictions portray these beasts as savage and primal, embodying the essence of evil itself.
However, since the dawn of the New Age, such creatures have vanished from Neramyr, unseen for millennia.
As Elowyn traversed the library’s wooden labyrinth, she half-expected a scolding to ring out at any moment. She was awaiting to be rebuked for carrying steaming liquid amidst the priceless tomes that lined the shelves, but was surprised to find that no roaming archivist or wandering bookkeeper was there to reprimand her. She simply shrugged her shoulders and let her gaze wander around the library until they were drawn to the tapestries adorning the walls.
The woven textiles depicted a myriad of legends and fables, some of which Elowyn knew well. One tapestry in particular never failed to capture her attention. It belonged to a large series of fabrics that illustrated the lore of divine magic and its connection to the Moon Goddess.
The first time she came across these tapestries, she was five and horror-stricken. Now, at nineteen, she stood before the details of the textile art, admiring the threads that depicted her kind’s rich history.
She let her gaze fall to the first tapestry of the series as it began to unfold a primordial tale before her eyes.
The legend began with illustrations of the feral creatures and beasts that roamed the feylands during the Old Age. These savage beings brought chaos, wreaking havoc on the first fey that inhabited the unclaimed territories. Creatures born from nightmares and wrought from hell reigned the lands, plunging the world into a ruinous age of fear and terror .
The desolate skies harbored flying harpies, grisly wyverns, and winged manticores. The depths of the Swyn Sea were swarming with kelpies and wicked water spirits. The shadows of the Elberrin Forest lurked with heinous changelings and fanged tygers. The grassy plains of Highbend were overrun with lindworms, giant cyclops, and nefarious ogres standing taller than three fully matured fey combined. Meanwhile, within the caverns nestled alongside the Eriden and Erimead mountains dwelled hordes of blood-thirsty dhampirs, wretched ghouls, and soul reapers.
The next tapestry that followed this delved into a prelude of a disastrous legend.
During the Old Age, the first fey endured an era marked by brutality and savagery. They rallied against these beasts with their own native magic, but the fey were powerless against the divine magic wielded by the creatures. Their attempts to survive were futile—males, females, and children alike fell victim to the relentless onslaught of these beasts. The first fey lived in a perpetual state of unrest and uncertainty.
For centuries, the fey and these monstrous creatures were entangled in a sordid dance of death and destruction, and resources were depleted until they fragmented to almost nothing. The fey’s numbers dwindled as the beasts overwhelmed and vanquished the strongholds of their defenses. Dreadful days befell them, and night terrors became reality. The fey found themselves outnumbered and outmatched at every turn.
As doom loomed near, the fey made a desperate attempt forge their way out of the bloodshed. They sought refuge in a shielded cavern nestled between where the Eriden mountains ended and the Erimead mountains began.
This cavern served as their final sanctuary, a last bastion of hope.
Only seven warlocks and sorceresses remained in their ranks, using the last of their sapped native magic to cast a ward over the cave’s entrance.
However, the beasts of night eventually found them. The vile creatures waged another attack, launching a final assault to massacre the last of them standing. That fateful night, the fey prepared themselves for the ruination of their folk. Families and kin gathered, bidding partings and farewells as they awaited their end, dreading when the protective spell guarding them would inevitably falter.
The next tapestry was dyed a maelstrom of grays and browns, depicting the despair and desolation the first fey suffered.
As the night wore on, trepidation and sorrow filled the cavern where they sought refuge. Their vile foes were chipping away at the wards link by link, and the last surviving magic wielders were now weary and exhausted. Knowing that their protective barrier would not last until morning, the seven fey made a final attempt to move their kin further into the depths of the cave, hoping to shield them even mere moments longer. The wards began to crumble, the magical veil shielding the cave entrance trembled and strained, struggling to hold its form. In silent agreement, the seven warlocks and sorceresses stood together at the entrance; a united force, prepared to protect their own to the bitter end.
Elowyn moved onto the next three shimmering tapestries and another spellbinding scene unraveled before her.
As the fate of the fey hung precariously in the balance, the stroke of midnight fell, and the sky was as dark as the shadows in their eyes. Swirling gray clouds churned overhead, parting with a deafening crack of thunder, cleaving a fissure in the heavens. A faint light emerged from the cleft in the clouds and a crescent moon appeared.
Mist began to swirl and coil around the feet of the fey within the cavern. The seven magical fey followed the elusive mist to its origin. It led them to a reservoir of shallow water nestled in the heart of the cavern, its surface tumultuous and turbulent. From within the mist-laden waters, a radiant aura emanated, heralding the arrival of a mysterious figure stepping forth from the ethereal shallows.
The figure flickered in and out of existence, its aura pulsing and glowing with an intensity. The atmosphere in the cave shifted, surging with an arcane power. The figure’s form remained elusive, fluctuating from small to tall, slender to robust, while its hair morphed from cascading waves to cropped curls that danced around its face.
With each step taken from the shallows, the figure’s hair and robes billowed around in movement, as if gravity ceased to exist in its company. Drawing nearer to the fey, the figure exuded an ethereal feminine presence, though her features remained shrouded in mystery. The seven fey stood transfixed, stunned by the sheer magnitude of the divine power radiating from her.
Advancing past them, the figure centered herself at the entrance of the cave just as the protective wards casted by the fey finally shattered. With a deafening wail, the creatures waiting outside charged in.
The luminous figure raised her arms and unleashed a torrent of moonlight from her outstretched palms. The winged creatures recoiled, their screeches echoing through the cavern as they shielded their eyes from the radiant beams. Another wave of divine energy pulsed from the figure, and she engulfed the beasts in searing moonlight. Their distorted faces contorted in agony as their flesh began to blister and burn, devoured by the divine power.
Amidst their anguished cries, the beasts thrashed violently, their bodies wracked with pain as the moonlight penetrated their very being, consuming them from within. With each agonizing moment, their movements grew weaker until death finally claimed them, leaving only stillness in its wake.
Turning towards the cave’s entrance, the otherworldly figure extended her palms once more, moonlight still streaming out from her palms in rivulets. This celestial energy took the form of both gentle rays of light and torrents of flowing energy as it snaked down her arms while she conjured another protective barrier that shrouded the entire cavern, protecting the fey.
Stepping beyond the safety of the cave’s confines, the figure left moonlight trickling behind her path. With palms upraised as if in supplication to the heavens, she directed her gaze skyward and drew upon the moon, channeling immense power.
In that moment, the world shattered.
Within the cavern, the fey trembled as the ground shook with each surge of celestial power that raged beyond its walls. Though the figure had vanished from sight, the lingering aura of her magic still saturated the air. For hours on end, the mountain quaked and trembled from the magic that seethed outside.
Eventually, the world quieted, and a calm settled upon the feylands.
Even the air once fuming with celestial power now ebbed into stillness and silence. Dusk was retreating and dawn was nearing as the morning sun creeped through the entrance of the cave.
At last, the figure reappeared in the cave. Her form still flickering with the glow of moonlight as she floated towards them. The seven fey beheld the figure and knelt before her, both in gratitude and reverence. Approaching them, the ethereal figure extended her hands and, one by one, bathed them in divine moonlight. Each of the seven fey were now aglow. As the ethereal beams danced upon their skin, delicate patterns of translucent ivory ink were traced. The patterns etched tales of sacrifice and valor upon their flesh. These markings bespoke the unique journey and devotion each fey possessed, weaving an artwork of courage and resilience across their bodies. Lastly, the shimmering ink drifted down their arms and ebbed at their palms, forming a crescent moon at the heart of each fey’s hand.
In that moment, clarity dawned upon the seven warlocks and sorceresses. They accepted that this figure was no mere apparition, but a higher being—a Goddess of Worlds.
With her divine touch, she marked each of the seven fey, entrusting them as the first fey to be able to wield her divine magic. The fey understood that they were chosen as the vanguards of a new era. Under the guidance of the Moon Goddess, they ushered in an age of order and harmony known as the New Age. Establishing seven noble houses across the feylands, they become the first rulers of the kingdoms of Neramyr.
The culmination of the legend ended at this last tapestry.
Since her youth, Elowyn had been mesmerized by these ancient tales. Her fear turned to reverence as she began to understand the origins of how her power came to be. Her father instilled in her the importance of understanding the significance of divine magic. He emphasized how it set her apart from the fey whose abilities were rooted solely in native magic.
Much like Elowyn herself, Elyria displayed an insatiable curiosity of Neramyr’s history and origin. She’d even read every book in the royal library thrice. However, Elowyn surmised that her sister was not merely seeking knowledge, but answers to her own story.
Elowyn navigated past the tapestries and through the wooden shelves until she reached a foyer within the library. The room was dim, only lit by the stained-glass windows reflecting colors that painted the furniture and floor tiles. This library held a special place in Elowyn’s heart, having spent countless hours here with her sister exploring every corner.
At present, the library seemed deserted, except for one soul.
“Elowyn, how many times must I remind you not to scry on me?” grumbled the snow-haired sorceress that Elowyn glimpsed on her stone earlier.
Even in moments of distress, Elyria looked beautiful. This was a quality that always stirred a hint of envy in Elowyn’s heart. While all fey possessed an inherent allure, Elyria surpassed all of them—she was beautiful beyond reckoning. Taller and lither than Elowyn, she moved with an effortless grace while her white hair cascaded down her shoulders and back in gentle waves .
Elyria’s eyes were a silver rimmed with ebony, framed with lush lashes that lined their petal shape. A delicate nose was set between high cheekbones and her skin was rich olive. Her lips, a rich warm brown, held a captivating charm, particularly when curved into a smile that revealed her four fangs—a trait no other bloodline in Neramyr possessed.
Elowyn bore a resemblance to Elyria, albeit a slightly less captivating one. She inherited her father’s striking features and boisterous demeanor. Meanwhile, Elyria took after their mother, exuding arresting beauty and an almost supernatural grace. Furthermore, Elyria possessed a tremendous amount of wisdom, likely stemming from her seven-year seniority to Elowyn.
“I had to track you down somehow, didn’t I? I brought you something because I heard you weren’t feeling well. I even brought our favorite treat,” Elowyn replied, presenting the tray of tea and biscuits.
“I just needed some space. With the divine Trial approaching, Father has been... overwhelming,” Elyria confessed hesitantly.
At the mention of the Trial, Elowyn’s cheerfulness shifted to seriousness. “Do you feel prepared?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Elyria responded, her gaze withdrawn.
Elowyn knew her sister well enough to know her eyes were fixated on her palms. The one distinctive feature Elowyn possessed that her sister lacked was the pair of iridescent crescent moons permanently etched onto the skin of her hands.
Setting down the tray of tea and biscuits, Elowyn settled into the chair beside her sister. “You’re the strongest candidate across the seven realms.” Elowyn lifted her palms, displaying her two crescent moons. “Even with these, I feel rather inept compared to you.”
“The Moon Goddess withheld her blessing from me for a reason. And speaking of which, you need to devote more time to your sight scrying. I sensed your spell instantly. Have you been practicing at all?” Elyria scolded.
“Was it really that obvious? I thought I was improving.” Elowyn shrugged.
“Watch,” Elyria instructed as she lifted one of the cups from the tray and poured tea into it. The liquid was still hot, wisps of steam rising from the porcelain. With a graceful motion of her hand, Elyria dispersed the steam billowing from the tea, cooling the liquid to a lukewarm temperature.
Turning the cup towards herself, Elyria peered into the reflective surface of the tea. Her gaze became distant as she focused, and soon a vision materialized on the liquid’s surface. It was slightly blurry, reminiscent of the visions Elowyn had conjured on her stone earlier. On the tea’s surface, Elowyn made out the back of her own head and her body suddenly tensed as it detected an unnatural magical presence scrutinizing her from behind.
“Now, observe this,” Elyria continued, shifting her gaze once more. The tea’s surface now displayed a mirrored image of the current scene in the royal library, viewed from a bird’s-eye perspective. With each movement of Elyria’s eyes, the image in the cup adjusted accordingly, presenting a clear, vivid depiction of the scene below. Every detail was sharp and unmistakable, from their own figures, down to the motes of dust drifting lazily in the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass ceiling.
This time, as Elowyn observed herself through the tea’s reflection, produced by her sister’s magic, she felt no sense of danger or foreboding.
“If you aim to scry someone’s whereabouts, caution is key. It demands time and dedication, but when executed successfully, your target remains oblivious. Eventually, you’ll forego the need for a scrying stone; any reflective surface will serve, much like this tea,” her sister lectured.
“Easy for you to say. You’ve had years of practice over me, not to mention your natural talent. No one your age can scry with such precision without a stone or mirror,” Elowyn countered. “And are you ever going to explain why you’ve started warding your door?”
Elyria chuckled in response. “Because of you and your lack of boundaries. You’ve been barging in freely for nineteen years, and that’s long enough. But if you bothered to learn the basics of warding, you could still enter. I’ve set up an intermediate spell just to see if you’d attempt it.”
Elowyn understood that her sister’s remarks stemmed from a place of concern and care. The reality was, Elowyn didn’t possess the innate prowess that her sister seemed to effortlessly command in all things.
The magic within Elowyn burned fiercely, but harnessing it was a relentless struggle. Despite the challenges she faced in mastering her native power, Elowyn dedicated herself to it tirelessly, sparing no effort to gain control over the magical energy pulsing within her. Some days, she felt progress, sensing the gap between herself and her native magic narrowing. Yet, on mornings like this one, she felt as though she couldn’t be further from achieving it.
“I’m working on it,” Elowyn reassured her sister. “Don’t worry, my Trial is nearly seven years away. I have plenty of time to earn your pride.” Shifting the conversation, she added, “But enough about me. You’re the one with the Trial coming up. Look at the bright side—you might even bond with an animus . Just imagine the pair you two would make... I can’t even begin to fathom it.”
Elyria’s smile widened at the prospect.
Elowyn knew her sister looked forward to the day she would claim her own animus . The Goddess chose only the most deserving to forge this sacred soul-bond during her divine Trial. This permanent attachment must be agreed upon by both parties, and once accepted, it bound them to each other into the afterlife and all the realms beyond. Soul-bonding with an animus signified one’s tremendous rank as a warlock or sorceress.
“That’s true. I wonder what mine will be. Perhaps he or she will be similar in nature as I am,” Elyria said wistfully.
“If your animus resembles you in any way, I’ll be terrified,” Elowyn chuckled. “But you know what’ll lift your spirits? Let’s wander to the mountains and find Bane and Stryx.”
Elyria’s eyes sparkled with excitement, her fanged smile mirroring Elowyn’s own.