On the eve of the 20th of Valnuary, 640 years after the fall, the Order of the Moon and guests gathered over the splintered shards of a silver dirk, deep within Hashan. As the moonlight streamed down, the gathering formed a circle, each with a piece of the broken weapon clasped in their hand.

Shepherdess of the Stars, Verily Ravensong, lead the ritual, summoning the Visages of the Lady to aid the order, their presence that of selflessness and devotion. She knelt before the shimmering altar of the Goddess that stood upon the hill and carefully embedded a shard of metal into the earth, her words soft.

'Of all, we know of Change. It stings, it pains, it goes not always as we wish. But each step is upon a path, moving on - no matter the direction. May the Crown avoid the perils of stagnancy, and may the Moon's light guide it when it is ready to step free from the murk.'

One by one the others knelt, their words mirroring the sentiment. 'Inspiration is our guide, and so we begin. May Hashan be likewise inspired, that they may see the potential of what could be.', 'May Hashan grow to fullness as the moon does with each phase. Growing from its time of decline, into the glorious Crown that it is destined to be.', 'May the Crown find its path in the Moonlight, May its spirituality grant it the ability to conquer all obstacles before it.' On and on the words were spoken, pleas to rebuild what was fractured.

No one noticed the silvery pieces beginning to melt, no heat was felt as they slithered through the grass, joining to one another, creating a serpentine train towards the centre of the hill where they melded into a single puddle of metal.

The liquid began to burn, racing through the hazy colours of heat and swiftly turning into a blinding white that scorched the eyes and streamed up into the sky before shattering. Thousands of white sparks cascaded over the city, tumbling in a brilliant display of falling stars, and when the light faded, the only glow remained about the newly forged dirk of Elentari.

Bound with Divine fire it was whole once more, though not without change. Ripples of pearlescent light reflected from a pale moonstone set within the pommel, fresh leather wrapped about the handle, and an engraved serpent writhed up the length of the blade, highlighted only by dark, shadowy lines displaying where the weapon was shattered.

But it was whole.


Penned by My hand on the 13th of Phaestian, in the year 640 AF.