The red star, known as First Father, hung loosely in the sky. The red giant pulsed rhythmically with waves of power that crashed against the planet. What little energy was not absorbed by the atmosphere, was concentrated into clouds.

As they became saturated, their colors changed from the usual purple and green to darker shades, until finally turning black as night. Expanding and contorting, Density soaked clouds exploded releasing their payload onto the world below.

While humans braced through the difficult season, the life of Madra reveled in the Densoons. Dry arid lands bloomed into forests overnight. Monsters, overloaded with new mana, evolved. Animals deformed into vicious beasts, ready to join their local ecosystems in an eternal battle for dominance.

Unknown Perspectives

A tavern stood nestled in a small coastal village with no lord. The waves of the Great Uncrossable Muranth Ocean crashed upon the nearby shores in a steady rhythm. Three men deep into their drinks sat with hunched shoulders. One man stood over the others, his straight back and boisterous movements a stark contrast to the somber mood of his companions.

“I’m telling you, they’re all dead! I saw it with my own eyes. The very gods descended in lightning and thunder. Their magic was so great it made new waves as tall as the hills.

“Those motherless Shrelks won’t be claiming any more villages around here!

“You guys have to believe me, this is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. We can claim an entire cove for ourselves. We need to get our families together and move now before someone else gets there first. We can all be elders!”

“Great tale you got there Piirk. Now they're gods instead of three emperors? How many times are you going to change the story? Do you honestly expect us to believe that three gods descended from the sky and blasted an entire colony of Shrelks? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?

“That’s not even the worst of your rambling, you want us to believe two of the three gods did nothing as they watched a tiny one do all the work. You must have fish eggs for brains if you think we’re going to eat that slop of a story.”

“Yeah, I heard that colony got started because something big kicked them out of their reef. They’ve been marauding down the coast for three moons and have already eaten their way through five villages. How could some child possibly stop that alone?”

The four men continued to argue well into the night.

The Mashraha Desert

As the suns inevitably rise, so do the seasons change. Densoon waves slow and eventually halt, leading into the heat of summer. The three suns combine their might to beat down upon the world.

The Mashraha Desert runs the entire length of the western territory of the empire. Beyond the dunes, a rainforest of unprecedented danger stands as an ever-present reminder of the harsh realities of this world. Not even the emperors dare step into that jungle. For the Mashraha locals, even a glimpse of green boughs is enough to send terror into an adult warrior's heart.

The green death kills before your breath stills, or so the locals say.

The shining jewel of the Mashraha Desert, the Oasis City of Skorahda. A gossipmonger stood amid a bustling crowd. Most people of the city passed him by, not willing to entertain his wild stories of the open desert. Yet many stilled their busy routines to listen in on his fantastical tale.

The man was tall and strong, as the hardened desert people tended to be. With sandy-colored hair and fierce eyes, he would have looked more at home guarding a caravan than yelling and begging in the busy market.

While wildly swinging his arms, moving fluidly from one direction to another, he narrated his tale with practiced ease. After his voice reached a crescendo and his tale came to an end the crowd oohed and ahhed. Some even clapped and tossed a coin into the man’s small pile of belongings.

“Next comes a new tale I know none of you have heard. For it is a tale I witnessed myself just a moon gone by. I see you scoff there, my gentle patron with the red wrap. But listen now as I recount this story and if ever you have heard it before, then surely I shall pay you for its telling!”

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The crowd laughed as the storyteller intended, their attention stayed on him instead of wandering to whatever duties they no doubt needed to be about.

“Our small caravan raced through the sands near the southern reaches of the desert, only a hundred kilometers north of the vile Muranth. Great billowing clouds of sand shot into the sky behind them. Their deaths were an inescapable reality, yet the caravaners and guards ran for their lives regardless.

“I was there as the pillar of sand closed in on us, we all knew the Wurm had our scent. Its hive clogged the air above us, drones circling close to savor the scent of our sweat as we raced through the baking heat.”

He spoke with finality, each word punctuated by a movement in his dance.

“In the distance, we saw them upon a dune. Our saviors. Though at the time we did not know them as such. My fellow guardsmen even cursed their mothers. For they seemed to watch our deaths approach, from their lofty position on high.

“Two men, one strong and young, the other aged and stooped, stood behind the child that would overturn the natural order of the Mashraha herself.

“The child bounded into the air, an impossible leap to be sure, for he never descended. Up and up he soared through the air, his tattered brown cloak flapping in the wind. He flew until the hive and our desperate caravan were below him.

“From his outstretched hands poured the holiest of flames, as pure in life-giving mana as the fruit of the Morcadra Tree. The bees of the hive shriveled and died, not even their bodies descended to feed the sands.

“We all know what happens when a Wurm feels the deaths of its scouts. My fellows and I all stopped running. What’s the point when death is an assurance, we thought. I wasted tears in hatred at the foolish child who had doomed us all.”

The crowd had swelled in size now to triple its usual bulk. The unfamiliar story, so well told by the gossipmonger with his wild dances and deep emotions had gripped the peoples' hearts.

The man's telling paused, he stood with stooped shoulders. The pain and sorrow on his face, clear for all to see, was just well acted enough that some grew suspicious, while many fell for his play.

“Then how do you stand before us now?” One man shouted from the crowd. Many listeners were roused from their imaginings of the terrible scene, painted by the teller's words.

“As I said from the start, these men were our saviors from on high. The boy did not flee as any sane man or child would do. While the Wurm dove deep, in preparation for its breach, the boy remained steady in the sky.

“The very air around us came alive, I remember it still, the hairs on my arms and head stretched as if to touch him. Roused from our melancholy, we looked up to the child. What I saw, I will never forget for all my days.

“His body glowed with a casting like no other, channels of mana as thick as my fingers glowed with a moving light. Like fairies danced beneath his skin. The lights raced from his heart to his hands faster than the swiftest beast. Only our empress, Mesalay Fa’Skorahda the Typhoon should have dominion over what formed above us.”

The man’s eyes glowed ominously as he stalked in front of the crowd. The onlookers could sense the danger in the man. Some even backed away as he prowled near them in his wild dance.

“A cloud as dark as a cave at midnight coalesced above us. The child's arms pointed in opposite directions, one toward the sand and one to the absolute destruction forming above us.

“I have never, nor will I ever face such terror again. My soul ached with the desire to run from that darkness. But, as if a peasant dropped into an emperor's harem, I could not help but gaze upon what happened next.

“The Wurm breached, its cry deafened Madra herself. Even in the blistering heat, my heart froze. The living city ascended to the skies above.

All sound ceased, I could feel my blood trickle down my cheeks. As others fled the shadow of the descending mountain of flesh, I looked on.

“The boy pointed at the falling Wurm, and the dark cloud of doom exploded. The most terrible lightning ever seen upon the face of the Mashraha struck the great beast.

“I could not see, for the blinding light, I could not hear, for the deafening scream, yet in summer's heat, the rain fell upon my skin. Through my toes in the sand, I could feel them, the impacts of an army falling to their deaths.

The teller now spoke in a whisper, every human in earshot remained silent, waiting with bated breath to hear the end of the story they would surely all run home to tell their own families.

“When my vision cleared, I stood amidst a sea of red. The child was gone, and his masters fled. Our caravan was safe as a babe in her mother's arms. The Wurm lay in a million pieces stretched across the dunes.

“In fire and lightning, he came to our aid. I proclaim to you now, the Fireling is amongst us,” The man shouted now, his hands raised into the air.

“If you ever see the child that flies on wings of blue, and breathes lightning from his hands, cower ye mortals, for that is no mere child, but the next emperor you behold.”