Fenralis Revelation
Spoken to Thistle Moonshadow by Fenralis, Deity of Secrets:
The air grows heavy, and shadows seem to deepen. The world blurs at the edges, and from the darkness, a figure appears—cloaked, shifting, and ethereal, with eyes like gleaming stars hidden within shadow. “My child,” Fenralis speaks, his voice like a breath across a moonlit forest. “The time has come to reveal what the world has long forgotten.” He pauses, and the air between you trembles with an ancient weight, as if summoning memories buried deep in the soil of Aethria itself. Fenralis’ voice, soft yet filled with the richness of hidden ages, begins to unfold the story. “Long ago, in the Age of the Ancients, when the world was woven together by unseen threads of magic and song, the Elder Races walked in harmony. Elves sang with the trees, Dwarves carved mountains to their will, and Dragons roamed the skies as guardians of the arcane. Yet beneath this perfect tapestry was a quiet void, a place between the known and the unknown, a mystery shrouded in shadow. From this realm of mystery, I brought forth the halflings—the quiet, the watchful, and the hidden. And among them, your people, the ghostwise, were my closest kin, those bound not only to the earth but to the spirit itself. I shaped your ancestors from the mists of that shadowed realm, giving them the gifts of subtlety and silence. They were to walk the fine line between the physical world and the hidden spirit, serving as custodians of secrets, entrusted with knowledge too powerful or delicate to be wielded carelessly.” Fenralis shifts slightly, his form flickering as if caught between two realities. His voice deepens, resonating with the weight of a sacred truth. “The first of your people, the Ghostborn, as they were called, were not like other halflings. They lived in secluded groves, not out of fear, but to protect the sacred balance of Aethria. The Ghostborn had the ability to touch minds, to feel thoughts as whispers, and to sense the spirits lingering in the shadows of trees, stones, and rivers. They were my eyes and ears, my trusted keepers of the boundary between the seen and unseen. Yet, in their hearts, they bore a secret burden, one that only the ghostwise would carry. You see, the Ghostborn were created not merely to observe but to safeguard one of Aethria’s oldest truths. Beneath the world we know lies a hidden place, a realm from which all magic flows. I placed the ghostwise near the gates of this realm, as sentinels of its mysteries, for I knew that if the world’s magic were unbound, it would consume itself in chaos.” He pauses, letting the weight of this revelation sink in. “Your ancestors understood this, and they vowed to protect these secrets even at the cost of their own memory. That is why so much of your past remains shrouded—because some knowledge is so potent, it must be guarded not just from others but from oneself. The ghostwise were made to forget, generation after generation, so that the ancient secrets they protected would remain undisturbed, safe even from their own reach.” Fenralis’ shadowed form shifts again, and his gaze softens as he looks upon you. “The gift of your people, Thistle, is not in strength or dominion but in insight and wisdom. You are watchers, secret-keepers, and voices only when needed. When the Sundering shattered the world, many halflings were scattered, and the ghostwise became wanderers, losing their ancient purpose. But your nature, the spirit-bound gifts you hold, have always been a part of you, carried like seeds beneath the soil, waiting to awaken.” “You are not forgotten, my child. Your kin still carry a piece of that original purpose within them. They walk between worlds, holding onto the balance that others overlook. This is the legacy of the ghostwise, to be guardians of secrets and custodians of hidden knowledge. When the world drifts too far toward chaos, it is those like you who can remind it of what lies beneath, the truth hidden in shadow.” A silence settles, as if the world itself holds its breath. Fenralis' eyes glint as he speaks a final, solemn truth. “Remember this, Thistle: while others may seek power in the light, yours is a power of shadow and silence, of knowledge held close. The ghostwise are bound not by blood or land but by their shared memory of a time when they alone knew the delicate, dangerous truths of Aethria. They, and you, are my secret keepers, born from mist and bound to mystery. Carry that legacy well, for the shadows will always need their guardians.” With these words, Fenralis fades, leaving you alone in the night
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