The First Fey

he tale of the First Fey is one of the oldest and most contested stories ever sung. Each fey family tells it differently, weaving their own pride and hopes into the verses. But among the oldest of the songs, there is one telling most agree upon.

Long ago, after the gods shaped the world from forge and storm, seed and sorrow, they crafted peoples to walk it. Last of all, they crafted the First Fey. Beings of such vitality and wonder that even the gods themselves watched with delight.

The First Fey frolicked across untouched lands, singing songs so lovely they bent the trees to listen. They danced so elegantly that rivers would curve their courses just to reflect their steps. They spun works of craft and artistry the likes of which have not been seen since, and they reveled in every moment, for life was their greatest joy.

But time, that cruel creature, could not be denied. Slowly, the First Fey saw their beauty wither. Their hair dulled, their laughter faded, and their dances grew heavy. One by one, they grew old.

In despair, they wept. The cried out for the beauty they had once known. Their tears flowed like rivers, pooling in a hollow at the center of their once-bright glades.

From that sorrowful pool arose a new wonder. A bird, woven from their tears, from their hopes, and from something more. A spark of enduring magic the gods themselves had overlooked. This creature shimmered like the morning dew and gleamed brighter than a star. It flew above the First Fey, singing a song that filled the skies with color.

When the bird saw the sorrow below, it, too, wept. Its tears falling like gentle rain upon the grieving Fey.

And where a tear touched them, their beauty was restored. Their laughter returned. Their dances regained their lightness. But now, it would not fade with age. From that day forward, the Fey would carry a fragment of the bird’s blessing, a small defiance against time’s cruelty.

It is said that even today, the blood of the First Fey carries a memory of that rain, and that is why Fey are creatures of enduring grace and wonder — and why, sometimes, when rain falls on a bright day, you might catch a glimpse of a glittering bird weaving between the clouds, still watching over its children.