The Fall of First-Kin Aerion

The clanmother, her fur the color of twilight, shivered as she sunk deeper into the nest of blankets and furs. Her amber eyes flickering as she gazed at the eager young faces gathered around her. It was cold, colder than any could remember, and even the most excitable child refused to venture out into the falling snow. They clustered around her, speaking to each-other in hushed tones.
One of them was pushed forward by the throng, a sacrifice on the altar of boredom. The old woman's eyes narrowed. A young lynx girl, her fur bristling in the cold. She was the daughter of the clan-father, but her name eluded her. The clanmother's mind, trained to recall events hundreds or thousands of years past, often faltered when it came to everyday information.
"Tell us again about the Whispering Wings, Elder," pleaded the young girl, her voice a low purr. Her tufted ears twitched, betraying her excitement.
The Elder sighed and tucked her paws beneath the furs. Every tale, even one told to bored children, required a certain mood, an atmosphere. She leaned forward and motioned for the lights to be lowered. A hush fell upon the crowd of children, and she felt a dozen sets of tiny eyes fixing upon her.
"Ah, the Whispering Wings..." She spoke, reducing her voice to a low rumble. "They were a clan like no other, young ones. Their home was the sky, their domain the boundless blue. They could soar higher than any bird, see farther than any eagle, their wings catching the sunlight like silver flashes. They were land-finders, secret-keepers… always seeking what lay beyond the next cloud, the next horizon.”
A shiver of fear and excitement went through the cubs.
“But pride, little ones, is a fickle mistress, and curiosity… curiosity can lead to the darkest of paths."
She paused, her gaze passing over each child in turn. Behind her eyes her mind worked through the cobwebs, searching through countless stories passed down in whispers around flickering campfires. They were nearly uncountable, and every tale had a dozen beginnings and endings. Truth, while often important, was secondary to imparting the right message, or gleaning the right reaction.
“They flew too far, until the sky bled into twilight, until the stars themselves whispered warnings." she murmured. "They stumbled upon a place they should have never disturbed. A place of silence and shadow, where the air itself tasted of forgotten fear. They woke a darkness that had been sleeping for ages, a darkness that spread like a sickness. A darkness that consumed not just flesh and bone, but the very memories, the very souls, of its victims."
The children leaned closer, their eyes wide, their boredom and the cold outside forgotten.
"Their King, a noble first-kin named Aerion, fought with a courage that lit up the sky. He tried to drive the darkness back, to burn it from the heart of their world. But the darkness… it had tasted the secrets of their wings, learned their every move, every hidden path."
With a start she flung her hands out, sending a cascade of shadows across the walls. Anyone watching could have sworn that they took shape as they danced, twisting into valiant knights and twisted creatures with jagged limbs and countless eyes.
“The wings vanished in fire, their home consumed by a firestorm from which none returned. A reminder, little ones, that even the strongest wings can be clipped, even the brightest souls can be extinguished, and that some places, some secrets, are best left undisturbed."
The room grew heavy, and she let her final words hang for a long breath before continuing.
"Go and rest now, little ones," she said, her voice returning to its gentle strength. "Dream not of forgotten tragedies, but of wings strong enough to carry you towards the light, towards the hope that endures in the heart of this world."
The children dispersed, their curiosity sated for the moment. The sacrificial girl remained behind though, a thoughtful expression upon her face.
"Is that story true?" She said, tilting her head to one side.
The old woman smiled and leaned forward conspiratorially. "There was a great first-kin named Aerion. One day he tried to fly to the sun and stars, trusting in his own strength. They say his wings caught fire and he plummeted into the far-sky, where he falls to this day. Others say he and his kin flew beyond the bounds of Yrdde, finding some paradise beyond the curtain of the sky."
The girl looked more confused.
The clanmother leaned back and smiled. "Every story is true, every story is a lie. Our job is to know which to tell, and when. Now, run along to bed with your friends. Old women need as much sleep as they can get, you know."
The girl nodded and ran away, her confusion forgotten. She was alone now, aside from the shadow of the occasional guard beyond her quarters.
Her gaze drifted to the window. The snow had halted for a moment, leaving an endless darkness behind. Somewhere out there, far beyond the lands any of her kin had seen, it lay in a dark and endless slumber. One day it would awaken.
When it did, it is said that fair Aerion would return, flying from the depths of the far-sky at head of a great army. There would be a great battle, one final bloodletting, and the kin would be free at last. The darkness and the final battle, that she expected would come one day. No long-lost king would save them, though. She knew her job well.
With every tale of darkness and of valiant heroes fighting and sacrificing to defeat it, she was instilling ideas, preparing them for what was to come. Maybe they would live, maybe they would not. The most she could hope for was that someone would still be around to tell the tale.