A ghostly woman wandered the Vashnar valley, endlessly searching for her
son. She had turned her back on the bright-eyed toddler for only a
moment, and when she turned again, he was gone. Bound by guilt and
grief, she continued to scour the valley, even after the village gave
up, after grief destroyed her mortal frame.

In the depths of the forest she spied them: men with wild eyes, driven
by some nameless madness. She could feel the blood magic in the very
stones of their profane altar, but was powerless to act. She witnessed
their bizarre worship, saw terrible cruelties visited upon others as
innocent as her son had been. Still she searched; still the child's
voice called to her, always just out of reach.

Centuries came and went, and his cries rolled down the mountainside,
tormenting her without mercy. People went away as time passed, and the
forest grew darker as they departed. Red eyes flashed in the night,
chilling howls and chitinous scraping filled the air, but these things
mattered little to her. Then came a new people to the mountains, and the
trees turned to houses, and the houses rose up into a city. This too
held no interest for the phantom, her scattered thoughts only for her
lost babe.

Then a strange thing happened. A woman strolling down the lane looked
the ghost in the eye and winked. Days later, a chapel appeared around
the altar. And as the ghost watched, the woman returned, followed by
three young maidens. Calling herself Theodelinda, the woman carried with
her a horrific thing that jolted the spirit to her core. Tucked into a
golden box lay her precious child, now little more than dust, beside a
thing of unspoken power. Unknowing, the people of the city warmly
welcomed Theodelinda and her priestesses, and the ghost despaired. There
would be no hope for her, no relief from her sorrow.

~ ~ ~

But hope did come one cool afternoon, and in the most surprising of
ways. The walls of the little chapel began shimmering with golden light,
and the priestesses fled in panic. All at once, the building dissolved
before the eyes of the ghost, and the heavens shone with a breathtaking
brilliance. The land around her changed once more, becoming a wide, open
meadow with only the loathsome altar at its centre; people flocked to
the site, sorrowful, mournful, and questioning. As renewed strength
flowed into the ghost she began to reach out, communicating to the
living with whispers and visions, spurring a search that would give her
the hope she had long abandoned.

~ ~ ~

Far to the east in Shallam, the Citadel of Light was newly formed, and a
verdant veranda lay where the mighty Chrysalis Basilica once stood.
Similarly in Cyrene, a humble meadow now spread over the ground once
occupied by a chapel gifted to the city by its devotionists: the Ordine
Vashnar Lumeni. Questions still lingered over the chapel's
disappearance, but more pressing were the troubling visions that
visitors to the meadow continued to experience with increasing
frequency.

Day and night, scholars of the city watched over the meadow, studying
whispers and visions at great length. Devoting themselves wholly to the
effort, Selira Distara-Ashaela, Mindry Etienne, Lirus
Alexandrian-D'Ischai, and a host of others pieced the ghost's story
together with extraordinary care. At last the bloody sacrifice that had
stolen the ghost's child was revealed, along with a second devastating
conclusion: Theodelinda, their trusted friend, was far from who she
appeared to be.

Crying out to the Gods who watch over the Heart of the Vashnars, Jaran
Lionblaze, the Dominus Lumeni, led the citizens in a ritual to
strengthen the ghost, who beseeched them to find the golden box that
held her child's remains. As she warned of the "true master" of
Theodelinda and her priestesses, the crowd quickly dispersed, and it was
not long before the box was found at the feet of a statue of Babel.
Selira shuddered as she picked up the relic, brushing away flakes of
cheap gold paint, and headed back toward the meadow, where the angry
crowd demolished the foul altar.

As the child's remains were placed upon the ground where he was so
cruelly slain centuries ago, golden lights flowed throughout the valley,
carrying away the ashes of the child and leaving behind a profound joy.
The sweet, burbling laughter of a toddler mingled with the whispered
thanks of his mother, and the two drifted away together toward distant
peaks.

Peace settled over the valley once more; the meadow was declared a
sacred place, and Theodelinda an enemy of the great city-state. Though
undoubtedly an agent of Babel, her specific intentions in Cyrene
remained as unclear as her whereabouts. It wouldn't be long, however,
before the veil of mystery was lifted...

Penned by My hand on the 1st of Chronos, in the year 578 AF.