IV: Aurora and Luna | Prologue: A Near Thirteen Suns Prior

A man with hair black as ebony stood at the top of a tower… his tower. He gazed triumphantly through the tall arched windows at the Full Worm Moon—she was big and golden. The black-haired man was working right in line with the Cosmos; tomorrow was Ostara, the day of new beginnings, and, thanks to him, New-Camelot would be brought into fruition. He had done nearly everything he needed to do in order to manifest this.

All but one final task…

The man turned to a female elf who lay on the cold citrine floor. She had dark green hair and bright green eyes, colours so similar to the forests his men had been cutting down.

She gave him a look that begged for mercy, but the man paid no attention. (He was going to have to get used to ignoring such looks.)

As the man adjusted the hogtie in which she was bound, he simply let her scream—though she could not form any words, for he had her in a witch’s bridle as well. This was a nasty-looking cage for the face, often made of iron—but of course, his was made of gold—that prevented the wearer from talking. He reminded himself that he was doing all this for the benefit of the common folk. They had begged him for help, begged him to save them, begged him to protect them.

Saved them, he had, and protect them, he would; he was creating the new world they had dreamed of, a world where no folkian would ever have to live in fear of the monarchy.

This world, however, would require some level of sacrifice.

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The Golden Candle

Buttercup, a low-elf twelve Solar cycles of age, was sitting in the bay window of her family’s tree-house, reading a book of low-elven folklore, when the first snowfall of the Solar Cycle began covering the Greenlands.

She had first felt a chill—although this did not bother her, seeing as she was a low-elf. Then her long, pointy ears had noticed how peculiarly quiet it was, even with her three adoptive brothers—Alder, Pine and Chestnut—playing up in the loft of their tree-house.

Yes, Buttercup had sensed the winds changing, so she paused her reading to gaze out the large bay window and was startled to see snowflakes. They were almost like falling Stars, their whiteness contrasting with the deep blue twilight.

“Cosmos,” she breathed, not believing it. “Snow? This early?”

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The Trial of Titania Brown

“Greetings, folk of the Solar Kingdom. Today we gather for the trial of Misses Titania Brown, a mundane—or so she was sentenced to be!”

As Sola made his little speech, Titania shut her eyes tightly. She had never exactly been one for Divination or Metaphysical Magic, but she had to communicate with the Cosmos, beg the divine to just let her die.

“Yes, she was sentenced to a mundane life,” Sola continued, “as she was not deemed royal by the Cosmos, nor was she deemed noble. She is a giantess after all…”

At this, the Solar folk jeered:

“Disgusting giant!”

“A tainted folkian breed, indeed! Just filthy!”

“The giant race is too stupid to work with the Craft!”

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