1 Calling

The New Cycle

The Wreath glimmered like diamonds all about the young girl, its quiet, moonlit magic undimmed by the rumors surrounding this year's celebration.

Rumors. Months of rumors.

As she stood amidst the hills, she pondered these whispers, truly, for the first time. Such things were a luxury to her, one she could scarcely afford. They were commodities, traded and spent by those whose lives had meaning -- yet another luxury denied to her. They implied a tomorrow, but what is "tomorrow" when the boundaries marking the days are blurred with unyielding servile caprice?

She beheld the glittering hills in silence, just as she had each year since her mother's passing. She drew her stained, tattered cloak about her frame as the breeze took yet another chilly bite at her flesh. With stiff fingers, she fished through her apron pockets, producing a humble, bruised apple and a dull paring knife. Both, while unwanted by the others at home, were still perfectly serviceable -- a thought that stirred within her an amusing kinship of a sort.

No sooner had she carved into the apple than a distant glow drew her attention. All along the far arc of the hill, mellow hues of orange and amber, suffused with a life of their own, warmed the tranquil backdrop of night. With the horizon's breath aglow and quiet solitude enshrouding her, the chaos that drowned every waking moment fell silent. She stood entranced, her small paring knife digging into the apple with a soft crunch between bites.

Curiously, the distant glimmer began to take shape. After a long moment, long enough to have cast a silent wish upon a rare falling star, the glowing mass fanned out and seemingly advanced toward her. She wondered what it was; the other Qetherelians had been disinclined to witness the Wreath this year, so it was unlikely to be them. The Celestines, perhaps, but...