TIRED, RETIRED - Interlude: Fairies and Flowers (Patreon)

A Lost Fairy

She was beginning to get worried. She should have found a fairy fountain by now. Any fairy strong enough to fly could sense a fountain from miles away, but there just… wasn’t any! There wasn’t any! Why wasn’t there a fountain?! Where was she?

And that was only the start of her worries. Once she realized that there wasn’t a fountain, that caused her to realize that she was smart enough to recognize that there wasn’t a fountain, which she hadn’t been before. She hadn’t been “she” before, either. She had been an “it.” A lesser fairy. Barely smarter than an animal, a mere manifestation of fairy magic drifting on the light breeze that surrounded the fountain. The only thing it had known how to do is flutter aimlessly and return to a fountain after being captured and used to heal someone.

She hadn’t even noticed time passing in that bottle. It had never noticed time passing at all. There was no past or future, just now. And now, after doing her best to heal that dying tree, she had sent a healing request higher up the chain and moved on to find a fountain that wasn’t even there; where was this place?

The fairy alighted on a tree branch, some ways west from the city where she’d been released. She’d already tried panicking and nothing had happened. She was able to send messages, but she wasn’t receiving any. Before, she’d been an extension of the Great Fairy, but with no Great Fairy--

With no Great Fairy…

No Great… Fairy?

The branch she was sitting on shifted, as though something heavy had just tried to land on it, but she couldn’t see anything there.

No orders. What did she do? She’d never made a decision before.

…Hm. Well. If there was no Great Fairy, where else could she go? The Fairy had vague, half-formed recollections of a tree. Memories that didn’t feel like hers, maybe inherited from her Fairy Mother?

The Fairy screeched, falling backward off a branch as a hawk dived at her, talons outstretched. It wasn’t able to find her body inside the bright glow, and after it faltered, attack ruined, she bopped it between the eyes and flew away as fast as she could.

What kind of place was this where even fairies weren’t safe from animals?!

No, don’t get distracted. What was that about a tree? Right, there’s a tree, somewhere, Great Tree, where fairies can live without a Great Fairy. Could she find that? How?

She found another, different tree, and this time sat down in a hollow (which she checked and double-checked for signs of animal habitation). This wasn’t the kind of tree that could sustain her. Did she… check for something?

The Fairy had no idea what was going on or what she was doing, so she just cast her senses out as far as she could and hoped for the best.

It nearly overwhelmed her newly-formed mind, but she withstood it somehow. This land was Wild. Magic was everywhere, though thinner than she felt it was supposed to be. A Song floated in the place between sounds, garbled and incomprehensible to ears that were never meant to hear it. The Wilderness stretched in every direction, and even extended partially into the city she had woken up in. The people carried a bit of the Wild with them, it seemed.

While interesting, it wasn’t helpful. Fairies were of Nature, but they weren’t Wild. She needed a place where Nature bloomed in an… well, in an unnatural way, she supposed. There weren’t really words to describe it more sensically.

There was a place… near the center of this land, where she felt a source of Great Nature. It was so great it almost overshadowed the other, smaller pockets of Nature throughout the land, and the name Eldergleam whispered through her mind… but it was far, too far. She didn’t want to fly so far when she had no idea what could attack her next.

There was another source, not too far. Not very far at all, actually. How lucky! The tree hollow was getting cramped, but she managed to get back out of it. How strange, it had seemed much larger when she found it.

What she found, when she found it, was a tree like she’d expected. It wasn’t a very Great tree, but it was a sight to behold. The wood was purple, and almost seemed to glow, as did the waters of the pond it sprouted from.

There were giants nearby, and massive beasts with long noses, but despite the carved stones around the pond they kept their distance, so she felt safe in approaching it. The Tree had no leaves, and only scarce wispy needles that pointed straight up into the sky. It was gnarled and twisted, and…

The Fairy placed a hand against the Tree’s trunk. She could sense it… and it could sense her back.

They were both very surprised to feel each other’s presence. The Tree was alive and awake, and it was deliriously happy to find someone who could hear its voice.

The Fairy didn’t know what a Hist was, but she could sympathize with its story of coming to awareness for the first time in a place it knew it wasn’t supposed to be with none of its kind nearby. The Sleeping Tree was lost and alone. So was the Fairy.

It offered her some of its sap, which made her feel heavy and tired. It allowed her to rest in its branches, which creaked under her weight.

How strange. She wasn’t that big. Was she?

…

It was much later, around midnight, when the Giants of Sleeping Tree Camp found a strange girl in the tree’s branches, sleeping and dreaming. They didn’t dare to remove her, not with the way she glowed the same shade of purple as her perch.

Flowers started sprouting around the pond…

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A Sleeping Tree

The Great Deku Tree was troubled. For as long as he could remember--and his memory was quite long indeed--he had known the Hero. His father, who was also the Great Deku Tree, had known him. As had his father who was also him. His roots ran deep, and his branches had cradled the Hero more than once. Even since that fateful day, oh so long ago, when a Hylian infant had been left in his care… The Forest had always been the Hero’s home.

But he was gone now. The Deku Tree could not feel him. His blood was still there--his grandmother missed him, but she was a tough old bird this time around and she had a good few years left in her. He had a sister… no, a distant cousin. Not someone Link had ever met. She was a… student, still, at a school in Hyrule Castle Town.

It hardly mattered. The blood of the Hero was not nearly so important as his spirit, and that was gone from Hyrule’s borders. His roots ran deep, but he could find Link nowhere.

The Princess of Light was gone, and Hyrule was dimmer for it. The King of Darkness was gone, too, and so it wasn’t quite as dim as it could be. These were both disturbing for different reasons. Hyrule’s princess was its final and ultimate guardian. Without her and the Hero, the kingdom was vulnerable. The Demon King being gone was unnerving; he was vile, but he was known. If there truly was no more Hero or Princess, the Deku Tree still felt that a new hero could be guided against him. It had happened before. But an entirely new evil rising in his place would be more challenging.

The single most horrifying incident of this entire story was the Master Sword. The blade of evil’s bane, sheathed in the stone before him, was dead.

The light touched the blade, but did not dance around it. The breeze flowing against it was not cut in half. The fairies that fluttered in his orchard were not drawn to it, rather being completely indifferent.

The Sword that Seals the Darkness had gone dark itself. No longer was it an edge against the forces of evil, now it was merely a very sharp sword.

It was terrifying, the power of the Triforce. How could the Mother Goddess let this happen? How could the Golden Sisters grant a wish that caused this?

“How indeed…” he groaned, settling back on his roots. The Koroks looked up when he spoke, but went back to their business when he didn’t continue.

The eternal children had noticed something wrong as well, though most seemed not to know what it was. They avoided looking at the sword, as well. They could sense, as he did, that it was empty now. In fact, most of them were avoiding the Woods for now, not willing to spend more time around the dead blade than they had to.

The Deku Tree did not blame them. Were he able to move, he might be tempted to leave as well. It was unsettling. He had never spoken to the Spirit of the Sword, but he had communicated with her nonetheless. He appreciated her companionship throughout the ages, and he liked to believe that she returned the favor. The Koroks were his beloved children, but it was nice having another adult around, if only so he had someone to roll his eyes at when the Koroks did something foolish. It would be lonely, now.

The Great Tree groaned again, more settling wood than voiced. Regardless of how it happened, this chapter had come to a close. Semi-Divine he might be, he was still a tree, and staying active for too long was exhausting.

His part in this play was concluded, and so now he slept.

As he drifted off, in the moment between waking and dreaming, as the realm of sleep began to surround him and pull him under, he felt a request from a fairy. It was so faint that in his drowsy state he almost didn’t notice it. It felt impossibly far away, and it was no fairy he was familiar with, so he might have dismissed it anyway if he hadn’t felt someone he recognized.

Link…? What a lovely dream, to see you again…

A sister tree was hurt and needed help, and the little fairy couldn’t do much to save it. It had asked for aid.

Reaching out, asleep but still half-aware, his roots spread and grew towards the source of the trouble. It was far, far, so amazingly far. If this had happened in the world of matter and law, it would have been impossible to even consider doing this. But in the Sacred Realm, distance was a matter of power, not time. It tired him out, but after a few eternal minutes his roots held the weakened spirit of a blossom tree between them.

Lightning strike, directly to the heartwood. The poor sister had burned from the inside out, and only barely survived. Gildergreen was desperate to live, but all of her strength was being used to not lose ground against death. She couldn’t heal on her own.

And as far away as he was, he could not restore her.

“I’m sorry, sister,”  he said. He mumbled the words in his sleep. “What you were is lost. But I sense another path…”

The Gildergreen was not aware in the same way he was, but in her soul she recognized him for what he was. She wilted at his apology.

“Your mother and your mother’s mother hold the power of Rebirth. I sense the same power within you. It is also a power that I hold. All things of Nature hold this domain, for Nature is a cycle. Life leads to death leads to new life. I can help you. You will be new and yet old, as I am.”

The sister tree was not a thinking being. She did not need to consider what this might mean or how she might change. She understood what Rebirth meant, and accepted it.

The Great Deku Tree gave her a push, and the Gildergreen of Whiterun, daughter of Eldergleam and holy site of Kynareth, died.

And then, as the Great Deku Tree fell into full slumber, unaware of the world once again, the Gildergreen lived.

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A Frightened People

As Zelda and Jo’kir returned from the watchtower, walking up the street toward Dragonsreach, a deafening crack echoed across the city of Whiterun. Someone screamed.

The pair of them ran up the steps from the marketplace and saw that the Gildergreen had fallen. The crack had spread all the way to the base of the trunk, and it had split into four separate pieces, dividing the circular paths into quarters.

A young girl in green had fallen, scrambling to get away as the awning collapsed. The priestess, Danica, was on her knees, a look of pure horror frozen on her face. Citizens from all across the city were arriving, making sounds of dismay and sorrow as they witnessed the ancient tree’s demise. Even the warriors from the mead hall had shown up, looking confused.

The extremely loud man before the statue of Talos had not even paused for breath, and apparently hadn’t noticed the commotion, nor that his few devotees had become distracted.

“What happened?”

Jo’kir jumped, startled. “Swordsman? Where did you come from?”

“Talking to someone called Ysolda. We were discussing the Khajiit caravans when I heard the scream.”

“I think it was her,” Zelda said, pointing at the priestess. “She is the tree’s guardian, isn’t she?”

“Oh, her,” Link said, and then stopped. “So, what was that shouting all about?”

While Jo’kir began trying to explain the past hour or so’s events, Zelda walked toward the shattered tree. Something seemed off to her…

Before, it had had a singular brilliant flower blooming from its top-most branch--the only sign that it still lived. It was gone now, but something was telling her…

She stepped in some fallen leaves, and her boot hit something metallic.

“Do you have time to deal with it now, Danica?!” a man shouted. Zelda looked up to see an… Imperial? Pacing in front of the temple, looking furious. “This is your job! And you blew it off to--”

“To tend to the wounded, Maurice!” Danica snapped, standing up and whirling on him. “Which is also my job! What should I have done, let the soldiers die while I tried to save a tree that was already dying?”

“Of course not, but you aren’t the only priest here! Let Heimskr handle the wounded, while--”

“Heimskr? Heimskr wouldn’t touch the soldiers with a ten foot polearm! You think I can pry him away from that damned statue?”

That got Heimskr to stop his sermon and began yelling at her as well, joined by several others. Soon the entire crowd was shouting. Link went to help the girl in green, getting her away from the chaos while the warriors in wolf armor tried to break up the brewing fight. Jo’kir retreated to the stairs up to the palace. And Zelda took advantage of everyone’s distraction to bend down and pick the metallic object up off the ground.

It was an amulet of sorts. It looked exactly like the pink flower that the Gildergreen had sprouted. There was a magic about it… but she had no time to determine its purpose right now. She slipped it into her satchel, and then moved to try and help with the developing riot.

Maurice and Danica were actually coming to blows now. It was disgraceful, but Zelda supposed if a statue of Hylia had suddenly and without warning broken in the middle of Castle Town for no apparent reason, it would be taken as a bad sign as well. She put a hand on both their shoulders and forcibly pulled them apart, to the poorly-hidden disappointment of the crowd.

“Is this any way to behave?” Zelda asked, voice stern.

“Boo! Let them fight!”

Zelda threw a ball of light at the speaker without looking. It wouldn’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, but it could knock the wind out of them, as it clearly did with the severe looking woman in plate armor.

“Do you think your goddess would approve of you two fighting outside of her temple like this?” she reiterated. “You dishonor her by your actions.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danica hissed, pulling her robe out of Zelda’s hand. “Kyne would understand that the people are more important than the tree. Of course I’m upset that it’s destroyed,” she said to Maurice, “But I do not regret healing my patients.”

For a moment Maurice looked like he was going to argue the point again, but then he sagged as the fight bled out of him. “You’re right, of course. I just wish I could have seen the Gildergreen in all its glory. Just once.”

The two of them shared a heavy silence. The pause was echoed by the surrounding citizens, all of them wondering what would come next. It was because of this silence that they were able to hear the groan of wood.

“Hey!” the girl in green said suddenly from where she and Link were standing. “Look at the tree!”

The remnants of the tree shuddered, and broke apart ever further. At first this was a cause of yet more dismay, until Danica gasped and they saw the pink petals poking out of the center.

From the corpse of the tree, a sapling was sprouting rapidly. Zelda moved to pull the split logs out of the way. Link helped her, and Jo’kir returned to handle another one. A Redguard warrior and one of the wolf warriors handled the others, and with the way cleared, all gathered could see the thin, pink, and very much living tree where the Gildergreen once stood. Branches sprouted and flowers unfurled, and when it finally slowed to a stop it was taller than Link.

Zelda hummed, impressed. She looked to see Maurice and Danica both in tears, awed.

“The Gildergreen is reborn…” Danica breathed.

Maurice shouted in return, “The Gildergreen is reborn!”

A cheer went up, even from those who were thoroughly confused. This was most of them, but everyone who lived in Whiterun was happy to see the tree returned.

“This is most unusual,” Jo’kir said, curiously placid.

“You don’t sound surprised, though,” Zelda noted.

“This one has seen many unusual things today. He doesn’t have any surprise left.”

Zelda laughed.

“What is going on here?” Irileth asked, coming up behind them. “Why aren’t you at Dragonsreach yet?”

“Something came up.”

“Everyone’s excited,” Steel-helm noted. “I guess they found out we killed the dragon already, huh?”

“You what?!” someone shouted.

This time, the cheer was deafening, and they really did start to riot.

Let it never be said that Nords don’t know how to celebrate.

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A Disembodied Dragon

Dragons are immortal. Ageless beings, fragments of the mighty Akatosh, greatest of them all. They are also arrogant. It is built into their very souls, though it affects individuals to varying degrees. Akatosh is a god of, among other things, rulership, and without being tempered by his wisdom or his respect, dragons cannot help but be supremely confident in themselves.

It can be overcome through the normal means of experience. Dragons are also able to recognize, albeit grudgingly, when they’re outmatched. No dragon with more than three brain cells to rub together will argue that Alduin is the greatest of them all, and even fewer would dare oppose him.

But even the humblest of drakes, the most learned and traveled, the most philosophical among them--no dragon truly believes they can die until it happens.

It was this that Mirmulnir contemplated as he felt his soul be pulled from his body. He had more reason than most to believe he would live forever. He had managed to live through more than one Dragon Break. He had been around during the first Dragon War, though he hadn’t participated much. Alduin had left him alone at the time, thinking him too weak to bother with. It had stung his pride, but he had been glad for it nonetheless. It had allowed him to hunt, as was his calling, without oversight. Ah, many fine hunts in that era. The warriors back then were real warriors, and the sorcerers knew powerful magics that modern mages had forgotten. Every battle was a thrill, every hunt worthy of Hircine’s own.

After Alduin vanished, the Dovah scattered. Over the centuries, they had been slowly and systematically hunted down. Powerful they may be, but clever tactics and superior numbers can fell even the mightiest. Then the group known as the Blades had formed, and even those who chose to flee and hide from mortals were slowly lost, bound in their bones.

Mirmulnir had been one of the few to survive the hunts. As a Hunter himself, he knew how they thought, and could do it better, and so it had been child’s play to avoid them. In fact, given Alduin’s vanishing and the death-sleep of so many brethren, Mirmulnir reckoned that he might be the single most experienced Dovah there was, in terms of time spent alive.

It was a point of pride. He had endured where others had fallen, others who had called him weak, cowardly, or lesser. He was here, and they were not, so who was the real winner?

He had never truly believed he could die. And yet here he was.

The Dovahkiin absorbed his soul, he could feel it. He felt his mind fading, subsumed by the cat’s own soul. He saw glimpses, pieces of memory that didn’t belong to him. The cat was so pathetically young… Mirmulnir could barely comprehend such a miniscule timeframe. Even by the standards of mortals, he was barely an adult. And yet, he had killed him, and Mirmulnir’s soul was his.

He faded. It wasn’t like going to sleep, as he’d heard death described before. He felt like thread unspooling. His soul, his very essence, unwinding and flowing into the drain of the Dovahkiin. He saw the first time the cat felt his magic. He saw the Khajiit learning writing and reading from his mother. He saw the first time Jo’kir hunted for game, finding the ordeal unpleasant and difficult, the whelp. How could such a poor hunter defeat him? He refused to let all of his hard-won experience die with him, so perhaps he could extend some effort towards dropping the knowledge into Jo’kir’s mind… He wouldn’t be using it anymore after all.

His final thoughts before being lost completely was that Sunvaar-Jun would go unhunted. What a waste.

And then.

He, Mirmulnir, Allegiance-Strong-Hunt.

Longest-surviving Dovah, as far as he knew.

Relaxed, as much as a disembodied soul could. He was infinitely lesser than he had been, and all that was left was the part that said “I.”

It was frightening, death. He didn’t know how mortals got anything done, with this looming over them all the time.

But there was nothing he could do. So he finally gave up the fight, and allowed himself to be lost.

…

Any second now.

…

Aaany second.

…

…Erm.

What was happening? Because death definitely wasn’t.

He was so, so much less than he was, but he wasn’t becoming any lesser anymore. The process had stopped. He was weak, but he tried to cast out whatever senses he might have had. Abruptly, a world snapped into… well, not focus, but visibility certainly. He was so small. The world was warped, and… curved. Was this… glass?

Oh merciful Father, had he been soul trapped? Could mortals soul trap dragons now?

He had just about managed to recognize the nearest colors as being similar to the Not-Sister when the world became dark again, just as suddenly as it had appeared.

What was happening?

DOVAHKIIN

The Shout was faint from wherever he was. Someone had noticed the Dovahkiin? Were they challenging them over his death? Likely not; Mirmulnir didn’t socialize. It almost sounded like multiple Voices, but it was muffled in this… container.

With sounds muffled and surroundings dark, and no sensory input to speak of, the tiny shard of dragon had no frame of reference to judge how much time passed before… something… dropped into place next to him. It glowed faintly, which was the only reason he noticed it. It was shaped like a cherry blossom on a silver chain. The pink light it gave off allowed him to take stock of his surroundings. His view was still warped by glass, but now he noticed that this container was topped by something brown and… wood? He couldn’t feel it to check but it looked like wood.

Lots of identically-cut gemstones here. An overly-ornate arrowhead poked out of the gemstone pile; if he could he’d have sneered at it. A strange shortsword, with only a single edge. That was a guess based on the shape of the sheath it was in--looked Akaviri, if he remembered. It had been so long since he had seen anything of that continent.

And of course, the flower itself.

Mirmulnir pressed what passed for himself against the glass, trying to get a better look. The distortion was slightly improved by this, letting him see the flower was metallic. The center of it was a smooth-cut ruby, and the source of the light.

It was pretty. And well-made. It almost looked like it had fallen off a tree itself. Mirmulnir would give mortals some credit, they could make some amazing things…

He couldn’t move out of this container, but he could jostle it a bit. The distance between him and the flower was miniscule, and he had a feeling. If he could just.

Get.

Close.

The flower’s metal petals clinked against the glass. The ruby’s glow turned blinding.

Something poked his soul. He recoiled away.

No, I don’t like that.

He settled back into the glass, away from the ruby, and the glow faded. He didn’t have any idea what it would do to him, and after the day he’d had he wasn’t going to take anymore risks.

All he could do was wait. So he waited. And eventually, mercifully, he drifted into something like sleep.

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“...a dragon is killed for the first time in centuries, our Gildergreen experiences an explosive rebirth, and the Greybeards shout from the top of their mountain,” Jarl Balgruuf summed up. He slumped in his throne, looking tired. “It has been an eventful day. I wonder what else will happen before the end of it?”

“Careful about saying things like that,” Link cautioned. “Fate is easily tempted.”

The Jarl looked at Link in confusion. “...Forgive my rudeness, but do I know who you are?”

Link grunted, saying nothing else.

“He’s with me, sir,” Zelda said, simply.

“Hm.” Balgruuf turned to his steward. “Have some guards watch over the… celebrations, and make sure no one breaks anything.”

“I will put our most humorless guards on it, my lord,” Proventus said dryly, walking off.

“So, what to do with you.” Balgruuf looked at Jo’kir. “Dragonborn… It is an honor to know you properly, my friend.”

The Khajiit shifted uncomfortably. “Jo’kir hardly feels as though he has earned it.”

“It isn’t something earned,” Balgruuf insisted. “It is what you are.”

“And he has thoroughly earned it regardless,” Irileth said. “I don’t know many who would throw themselves off a tower like that just to reach their foe.”

Jo’kir’s ears folded back as Balgruuf and Hrongar laughed. “Indeed! A mighty deed, no question!”

The Jarl sobered slightly and sat up straighter. “There is no doubt that you’ve earned a place among Whiterun’s heroes, Dragonborn. You’ve done a great deed for me and my city, and so, by my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It’s the greatest honor that’s within my power to grant.”

The Khajiit’s jaw dropped slightly. Zelda smiled and clapped for him, joined by Link. “Well done, Jo’kir! You’ve definitely earned it.”

“I assign you Lydia as your personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office. The guards will also be notified of your new title.”

“I--Jo’kir can hardly accept!” the Khajiit spluttered. He waved his shock axe in demonstration. “You have already given me a weapon, and Khajiit only has so many hands!”

Balgruuf laughed again. “Yes, I got ahead of myself a bit with that, didn’t I?” He leaned forward, grinning. “Truth be told, the Axe of Whiterun is a bit crap. When I said it’s a badge, I meant that’s all it’s good for. Or, I supposed we could give your preferred weapon the engraving instead? Your choice, friend. Just wear it on your hip around the hold until the people recognize you, is all it’s for.”

“Jo--I--” He sighed, then steeled himself and held his axe across his chest. “Khajiit is grateful for the honor you have bestowed him. He--I will live up to it to the best of my ability.”

“Now, enough of the formalities,” Balgruuf said, leaning back again. “Let’s talk about the Greybeards. It’s quite the journey to visit them.”

“There is no refusing a summons from the Greybeards,” Hrongar said when the Jarl’s audience looked confused. “They are the Masters of the Voice. There will be none better to teach you how to use your new gift.”

Balgruuf nodded, rubbing his beard. “Yes… I climbed the Seven Thousand Steps once, you know. Every true Nord should make the pilgrimage at least once.”

“How many?” Jo’kir asked, dismayed. The Jarl, damn him, just laughed again.

Zelda placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry your plans for Winterhold haven’t worked out. There will be time for it later. You’re still young, after all.”

Jo’kir grimaced. “Right. Maybe you can save a place for me when you get there.”

“Look on the bright side--you’ll be learning a type of magic almost no one else knows!” Zelda said, excitement leaking into her voice. “In fact, I’m almost jealous.”

“That… is a good point,” Jo’kir conceded, relaxing a little.

“There, you see?” Balgruuf cheered, standing from his throne. “You should get ready for the journey. I’ll pay for a room for the night at the inn for you, come. And let’s meet your housecarl…”

Zelda snapped her fingers. “Oh, right! Where is Farengar? I wanted his input on the piece of dragonsoul I captured.”

The Jarl’s steward, Aventus, stumbled midstep. Irileth fared only slightly better.

Balgruuf smiled in an exasperated fashion. “Ah, yes. I’m afraid he went to inspect the dragon’s corpse the instant he heard it was dead. I doubt you’ll pry him away any time soon, though you could certainly try.”

She considered, then shook her head. “No, I know what it’s like to get a breakthrough in your studies. I wouldn’t dream of interrupting. I can always show him later.”

“A true scholar, I see. Skyrim could use more like you, in my opinion,” Balgruuf said. “Now, enough about dragons. Let’s have a drink, on m--” He froze. “You captured a WHAT?”

Link laughed. “Easily tempted, indeed.”

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A Visiting Goddess

That night, in the Skies over Tamriel, astronomers across the continent would notice a slight change in the stars. It wasn’t so blatant that the average man would notice or care, but those who made it their job to notice these things saw the difference.

The initial name given to the new formation in the stars was the Strands, for the way it resembled tangled cords. After a few weeks, though, after it was confirmed that the formation was centered around the planet Kynareth, it would be renamed to the Roots.

The Roots weren't very visible. It consisted of twenty stars, but they were all very dim, only visible after the sun had fully set. They didn’t interfere with any major existing constellations, and aside from their sudden appearance they were only notable for how close they were to each other. Most scholars moved on quickly enough, leaving the priesthoods to ponder over what it meant.

That was Nirn. On Kynareth itself, the Roots were very visible. Great, massive tree roots sprouted from, or more accurately, dug into the great, tree-dotted plains known as Kyne. They formed a dome of sorts, meeting in the center at the top, and then extending into the sky, where they faded from sight, gradually turning transparent until they vanished.

Or maybe they didn’t. Reality was soft, here.

If it was real, then the dome rose above a sapling, alone and far from the tree that mothered it. It had been fading from the realm, but suddenly the Roots had appeared, and the sapling had solidified once more.

Unless it didn’t. But it probably did.

There was also probably a figure standing by the roots, clad in green. Her dress resembled leaves, and a small white cloud circled her head like a halo. Occasional drops of rain would fall from the cloud onto her shoulders, without her notice. The hawk on her shoulder looked up, taking in the massive structure.

It is rude to enter someone’s home without permission, she said, placing a hand on the roots. But I think I can forgive it. You’re a fascinating creature.

The roots twitched, sending a tremor across the plains.

You’ll have to forgive him, someone who was not her said.

On Nirn, many saw the shooting star as it streaked across the sky.

Kynareth turned to take in the newcomer, and was taken aback.

She was blinding. Stunning, even, in that it stunned the senses to look at her. She was tall and fair, clad in white cloth with billowing sleeves. Gold jewelry glinted in her light, and a birdlike crest adorned her chest.

Another visitor? Kyne asked, bemused. Then she frowned. I do not know you.

Nor I you, the visitor replied. I am not here to cause trouble. Merely to check on me and mine. I apologize for intruding, but Deku provided a most convenient bridge. Her soft smile shifted to something more chagrined. You may want to prepare yourself to receive more guests that way, I’m afraid.

On Nirn, astronomers would note that the planet Kynareth was unusually bright in the sky that night.

Who are you? Kynareth asked.

The shining goddess smiled. I am Hylia.