I failed.

In the eons of my life, I have had cause to write those words before. They are not foreign to me, nor should they be to anyone with the gift of hindsight. My first venture in the building of worlds for my Elders was one, perhaps, and the disastrous consequences that resulted. I am still in Han-Tolneth's debt for his rescue. Or the rash words of our Conclave to judge Maya's fate in Association. I do not regret what I voiced, but it was rash all the same.

Our task seemed simple. The Adversary launched fresh offensives, reclaiming ground we judged secure and overwhelming the garrisons. I was to lead the blaze towards where we believed His next strike would take place, there to join with the Oibri in a countering blow. But during our passage through the plane of Nylor we were ambushed. It was not simply an assault: they were waiting for us.

We were betrayed.

How, or by who, I do not know. If I find a culprit, their death will be neither merciful nor swift. Some might see solace in my obliteration of the Adversary's hordes on that wasteland of a plane. But by the time I was finished destroying them, it was too late. His true objective was never me, nor my blaze as a whole. He was willing to sacrifice armies upon my blade in pursuit of it. He wished for only one. To lure it away, and inflict an ending upon something that possesses neither beginning nor end.

I was not fast enough to reach my phoenix in time to prevent the attack. The creature - Rhea, for I have encountered her before - retreated at my approach. It is possible that she feared to engage me directly, but I am not so arrogant as to believe that without evidence. Perhaps He and she underestimated me, or perhaps they did not. It hardly matters now. I am not my Elder Aeon; I cannot turn back time.

My descent to the Dawnspear was less violent than the uncontrolled fall across the full breadth of Creation I suffered during my last encounter with the Caefir. I will admit to approval for the alacrity of their response to my arrival, and their willingness to contribute what they could given the constraints we laboured under. Farrah Roualt, Mezghar Al'Jafri, Veldrin Crescent, Lii Le'Yuet, and others. Their efforts widened my thought to the potential of Spirit, though I have admittedly never been greatly conversant with that particular foundation plane. If Dekalb yet lived, then perhaps... but as I have written, I cannot turn back time.

The wounded phoenix could not be healed, at least not by me, nor by those of Targossas. All I could do was grant her a reprieve from pain, for if she was prevented from resuming her endless cycle, if she was forced into the imposition and curse of an ending, there was little else I could give. The ash of her passing adorns my brow in remembrance, and as a warning against overconfidence. When next I confront the Adversary's forces, I will exact a toll not seen since our strike alongside Krenindalan allies against Aelathindaar in the early years of the Long War.

But I also saw the Dawnspear's priests follow my lead, anointing themselves with her ashes. I heard her song once more from their lips, saw her fire and flame in their eyes. And I did not sense her pass before Ugrach. Is she truly dead? Or is she transformed? Does what once resided in one now ward a multitude in Creation's defense?

I do not know. Even for one of my years, there are many things of which I am unaware. But while her song lingers, there is hope. And mayhap my failure to protect her is not a complete one after all.

Coelano
Whisperer

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Summary: Breaking free from an ambush by the armies of Babel on the Outer Planes, the Demigod Coelano rescued a wounded phoenix from Rhea, Daughter of the Void, and carried it to Targossas. Though the Dawnspear was unable to restore the phoenix to her natural cycle, by anointing themselves with the ashes her spirit and song lived on in the Zeal skill, now available to the Priest class.

Penned by My hand on the 8th of Lupar, in the year 793 AF.