Nuri and his father Alyart Dunedas, both on horseback, lay their eyes upon the dark towering peaks of some of the tallest mountains of the Nirala mountain range, as they hastily but carefully made their way north down a primitive dirt road. The red sands of the far southern reaches of the Land of Spirits reflected back towards the dimly lit sky above, as the moon descended slowly towards a black horizon. Nuri found himself trying to emulate his father, looking towards the moon, the planets and the stars for signs; for answers. However, the kind of visions his father had told him about on many an occasion did not appear for him, nor did he feel any sort of connection towards the heavens. He thought, perhaps, that he was just not meant to incur the visions of his father; that his purpose was elsewhere.

It had not been until his thirteenth birthday, roughly a year ago, that Nuri had experienced his first Sage vision—the only one he had had so far. It was the scene of a horse pulling a cart behind it, his father asleep in the back on a stack of hay. Next to him lay a sword with the stain of blood smeared into its blade. The cart was traveling along in an unfamiliar town, as smoke from a great bonfire billowed out behind them, having just been extinguished by the pouring rain. He could hear himself scream, before the vision ended abruptly. Nuri imagined the vision in his mind so clearly still, and a great worry erupted in his heart, as he began to gaze off from atop his horse, before the sound of his father’s voice cut through the night air.

“Nuri, do not fall behind now. We are almost at the shore, and the oxen will not miss an opportunity for rest. And Gods know, that is the last thing we need right now, so close to sunrise,” Alyart shouted.

Nuri snapped back to his reins, as he grabbed hold of them once more and secured himself in his saddle, pulling the rope he held that guided a large ox walking between him and his father, who held onto two more of the muscular animals.

“Yes, Father. I must have fallen into my thoughts. I won’t let it happen again,” Nuri replied.

“Good,” Alyart said sternly. “You need not be reminded of what will happen if we get caught.”

Nuri nodded, and in his own mind made sure his father was right. In truth, Nuri knew quite well the consequences of what they were trying to pull off. A life in the prison dungeons, exile, execution—all were possibilities if they happened to be captured, for the duo had stolen three prized oxen belonging to the master of the Irindar region itself: Haykun Irindar. It wasn’t an act of greed nor was it a political move against Master Haykun, but rather a last ditch attempt made by Alyart himself.

“Father,” Nuri whispered. He could feel his hands begin to sweat as thoughts of what would happen if they were caught flooded his mind. “Tell me again about the vision you had,” he requested, in an attempt to distract himself.

“Well,” his father answered. “I saw that if our master’s oxen were to be taken to the king of Mano and be gifted to him, great riches and prosperity would be bestowed on the Irindar region, and on the Cattle Folk as a whole,  as a result of this offering.”

For a brief moment, Alyart looked behind him, squinting his eyes. Then he continued. “I tried to tell Master Haykun, but he did not believe me, for I am merely one of his cattle keepers from humble descent. He called me mad and said that the Sages were no more than a myth told by ignorant fools. That is why we must do this, for the future of the Cattle Folk.”

Nuri knew that the struggling society of the Cattle Folk had been on the brink of collapse for many years now. The very earth itself seemed to be in its death throes with regards to supporting their people. Infertile lands and heavy droughts had caused them to remain a poor and struggling society. If his father was right, Nuri thought, then all of this was worth it.

All of a sudden, shouts in the distance behind them filled their ears. It seemed as if their pursuers were getting closer, and as Nuri and his father made their way over a small hill, their eyes met a band of figures on the horizon behind them, tracking them.

“Nuri, make haste now. Do not focus on what is behind us, but rather on what we can see ahead. This way, quickly,” Alyart said, motioning towards a break in the path. As they made their way through a brush, a long stretch of grasslands and scattered roots, Nuri picked up the scent of salt and fresh sand. For a long while, they made their way through the brush, towing the oxen behind them. At last, Nuri realized they had made it across, before the shouts of their pursuers began to stir once more. It seemed now as if they were just on the other side of the brush, trailing closely behind. Nuri could not foresee how they could possibly outride their pursuers now, but his father just hurried him along.

“There it is, the mouth of the river Lev, where it flows into the Great Inner Sea,” Alyart said aloud. It was then, in the dim light of dawn, that Nuri spotted it—a large wooden boat docked by the shore, a large sail flapping in the northward wind.

“A boat?” Nuri asked.

“Indeed my son. It can’t hold an army, but it can carry us to Mano. Hurry now, for our time is running low.”

The two dismounted their horses, and began leading the three oxen onto the boat using a thick wooden plank as a walkway. Troubled at first, they quickly found that the grass at the sea’s shoreline proved to be an excellent treat for luring the oxen aboard. The first two nervously made their way to the boat, just as the shouts of their region master’s men appeared to them on the edge of the brush. Three cloaked figures sat opposite the land between them and their home, lanterns illuminating their silhouettes and their horses on the high ground.

“Nuri, help me with the last ox. This one’s a bit more stubborn than the other two,” Alyart said.

Nuri rushed to assist his father, and the two pushed the third ox up into the boat, along with their two horses. Quickly, they untied the large sail, and as it fully spread its wings, the rising sun now greeted them. The wind, Nuri thought to himself, was perfect for their journey. He realized now why his father had picked that specific night to enact his plan, for the winds would take them right towards Mano, about a day and a night’s travel north of the river mouth.

Freeing the boat from its ropes, the waters of the Great Inner Sea quickly carried them away from land, as the winds bid as Alyart had foreseen, taking them northward towards the coastal city of Mano. As the sun continued its ascent into the sky, the figures chasing them finally made it to the shoreline, where Nuri laid his eyes upon them.

His heart quickly sank as he recognized the three men.

“Father, these are not just any of master Haykun’s men,” Nuri whispered. “Those are his three sons.”

Nuri locked eyes with the oldest of them, Rilyor, before he turned his gaze towards the open sea ahead of them.

“Then we were quite lucky to have this boat here,” Alyart laughed. “And a fine boat it is. Onwards to the city of Mano, my son.”

As Nuri and Alyart continued to sail the great sea, the screams for their blood from behind them were quickly swallowed by the morning air.

The boat seemed to glide through the crashing waves with ease, as the sea itself seemed to transport them ever onward, further north towards their destination. The sky filled itself with the bright morning sun, but dark clouds lay ahead of them in the distance.

“Is a  storm going to break?” Nuri asked.

“It seems it will,” Alyart replied. “But do not worry, for the boat is sturdy and well-crafted. Make sure the animals are under the covering in the back though. And feed them—they should be nourished for the journey ahead.”

Nuri did as his father bid, and tied the animals down to wooden posts under the tarp in the back of the boat. He then rejoined his father at the helm, and was instructed to take over the rudder for a time.

“Father, I never even asked. How did this boat come about at such a perfect time?” Nuri questioned.

“Well, my son, the oxen vision appeared to me this week. That was when I went to tell our region master about it, but I have had it many times in the past as well. I have spent the past few months on the shore collecting driftwood from various shipwrecks.”

Nuri could see his father pause for a moment, looking out past the ship’s bow, before continuing. “Son, answer me this: do you believe in what I tell you, of the visions I have and what they hold to be true?” Alyart asked.

“Of course I do, Father,” Nuri quickly responded.

“I mean it, Nuri. Do you truly believe what I say to you, with all your heart and mind?”

Nuri looked at his father for what seemed like an eternity, as he tried to muster up the courage to tell him the truth of the matter. He could see in his father’s eyes that he truly cared for his son’s answer, and thus he replied with full honesty.

“Well, Father, I want to believe you, I do. I want to take faith in what you say and what the visions show, but I have only had one vision myself thus far, and it did not hold much meaning, let alone manifest itself in any way,” Nuri responded.

His father matched his gaze, before sitting him down on a wooden log carved into a seat. As Nuri sat down, he could feel drops of rain begin to hit his head.

“Son, I think the time has finally arrived to tell you about something I have held close to my heart for many years, something that you must try and understand fully. Can you do that for me?” Alyart asked.

“Yes, Father,” Nuri replied.

“There is a rumor amongst the Sages that our origin lies in the heavens, and that Gidiyon, God of the Heavens, has roamed amongst the Cattle Folk for many generations, posing as ordinary men and women. It is my belief that we are descendants of him, and that our abilities stem from his own bidding.” Alyart paused, before finishing, “I do not expect you to understand everything right now, but it is important you hear this, for your future is intertwined with the heavens in the same way that mine is. But rest now, Son, for the sea will become harsh, and you haven’t slept at all this night. After you wake up, I will tell you more about what it means to be a Sage.”

Nuri tried to process all that he had just heard, but the only thing in his mind was the look on his father’s face as he had finished speaking. It was a sad look, one that Nuri could not make sense of. However, he followed his father’s orders and went to sleep underneath the tarp. As his eyes slowly closed, once again he could almost see the vision he had experienced a year ago. As he drifted off into a deep slumber, drops of rain slowly pattered against the tarp above him.

When Nuri opened his eyes again, he could see that the sky had turned dark once more, and that the dark clouds that had covered them in a blanket of gray had departed. After a sleepless night, it seemed to Nuri that he had slept for longer than he would have liked—perhaps the whole morning and afternoon—but his father didn’t seem displeased. Above them, a clear night sky shone with hundreds, perhaps thousands of stars overhead.

“We’re almost halfway there,” Alyart said quietly.

Nuri turned around to look at his father. “On pace then,” he replied.

“And let us hope this pace continues,” Alyart said. “Gods be good, we should arrive in Mano at dawn.”

“At least the night is clear,” Nuri said, almost to himself. “Even the divine nebula has revealed itself.”

Nuri and his father both looked upwards and gazed upon the magnificent conglomeration of stars and cosmic bodies that formed the streaks of blue, purple and red staring back at them.

It was then that Nuri noticed a leather pouch in his father’s hand. It was inscribed with some type of symbol.

“Father, what is that?” Nuri asked.

“Well, my son,” Alyart replied. “I told you when you awoke that I would teach you more about what it means to be a Sage, and I still intend to do so. Go feed the animals, and let's talk some more.”

Nuri did as he was asked, and when he was done, his father was stuffing a pipe with some strange dried mushrooms from the pouch. Nuri had never seen anything like them before, and quickly noticed the pungent smell that seemed to emanate from the pipe itself.

“These mushrooms are very unusual, Nuri. They grow deep in underground caverns, far out of reach for even the bravest spelunkers. Only those who know where to look are able to dig for them,” Alyart explained. “They have the power to open the mind of a Sage; to unlock its true potential.”

Alyart reached into the pouch once more and pulled out a small tinderbox. From it, he took a small piece of flint and struck it upon a white stone. As the leaves in the box caught fire, he lit a small piece of wood and used it to carefully light the pipe. Slowly, he inhaled and puffed out, each time a larger cloud of smoke billowed from his mouth. He continued smoking the pipe for a short while, before turning to Nuri.

“Here, Son,” Alyart said, extending the pipe towards Nuri. “Smoke but a few puffs. That is all you will need.”

Nuri took the pipe from his father, before imitating his father’s hand and placing the mouthpiece of the pipe in between his two perched lips. Slowly, he inhaled and immediately began to cough. He looked at his father with teary eyes.

“One more should be enough, Nuri,” Alyart said, almost with a laugh, after giving his son a moment to catch his breath. “But make it a deep one.”

Nuri inhaled the smoke once more, and this time did not cough. His father motioned for him to give back the pipe, which Nuri did as he sat down, his back leaning against the boat. It was not long before he could feel the effects of smoking the mushrooms. His vision seemed to blur, and he could feel the sounds of the sea become louder, more visceral.

“Lay down on your back, Son,” Alyart said. “And look to the sky and to the stars.”

Nuri could hear his father take his place at the rudder once more, before doing as Alyart said and laid down on the cold, wet, wooden floorboards, focusing on the heavens above. Slowly, Nuri began to see the stars move and dance in the sky. They seemed to be forming strange shapes and patterns, telling a story Nuri could not decipher. He could feel his mind opening to tales of the future, but the pages were blank and empty, and Nuri could not understand what any of it meant.

“Father,” Nuri said softly. “I can feel the visions, just as I felt the one I had a year ago, but I cannot see what they are telling me. They are too vague.”

“Do not be worried,” Alyart replied. “For one day these visions will be as clear as the sky above. You must give it time and practice this ritual.”

Nuri understood what his father had said, but became frustrated that he could not yet see the visions his father had promised him. Nuri thought to himself that perhaps his father was wrong, and that he would never become a Sage.

The effects of smoking the mushrooms lingered for several hours. Nuri continued to gaze up at the sky, trying to grasp what the stars were trying to tell him, to no avail. As dawn started to color the sea a bloody red at the horizon, Nuri began to feel an ominous threat lurking in his thoughts. It was almost as if he could sense that something bad was going to happen, but he did not know exactly what it was.

“One more important thing about these visions, Nuri,” Alyart said. “You have to remember that the future cannot be changed, nor can it be avoided. Destiny entangles all in its web, and no one, not even Sages, can escape. Anything you do to try to change a vision’s foretelling will result in it coming to fruition. That is the great paradox of the Sages, for what we see and what we do is already set in stone, just like an arrow fired from a bow in perfect flight will reach its target, whatever that may be.”

Nuri pondered his thoughts for a while, until the morning sun rose over the waves, and he and his father spotted the silhouette of land in the distance.

“There it is, Son,” Alyart said quietly. “The harbor of the city of Mano.”

As the two came closer to the shore, they could spot the extravagant structures that lined the city’s coastline, and the high towers of the palace of the king within the city itself. The harbor itself seemed to stretch for at least a full mile, with dozens and dozens of ships docked at its piers.

Slowly, Nuri and his father sailed their boat into a wedge between two piers, and tied their ropes to its pikes. Casting down the wooden plank, the two guided the three oxen and their horses off the ship and onto the docks. Several fishermen that had already begun in their quest for the day’s catch looked on in awe as the three prized oxen made their way off the ship and into the city.

The city itself seemed to already be bustling, as hundreds of people crowded the streets in markets and stalls, selling goods and wares to any and all who were willing to pay. Nuri could not have even imagined the scene that he was experiencing, for everything was all so perfect to him. He could feel himself wanting to speak with everyone that passed them, but his wants were quickly silenced by his father, who instructed him to mount his horse and help with leading the oxen towards the king’s palace that towered above the city in the distance.

As they made their way through the city streets, many in their path stopped to gaze upon the prized oxen, seemingly taken aback by their stunning beauty. The admiration for their animals made Nuri very proud, but at the same time it saddened him that, for this to happen, a great betrayal had to be made against Master Haykun. Soon, a small group of stable boys happened upon them as they were nearing the palace.

“What a mighty oxen you got there, my lord,” one of the boys said to Alyart.

“Why, thank you,” Alyart replied. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the palace stables are, would you?”

“I would hope so, I train there myself,” the boy answered. “I’ll take you to them.”

With that, the boys began to lead Nuri and his father towards the palace stables, continuing to remark on the beauty of the prized animals on their way there. Eventually, they arrived at their destination and halted as more people surrounded them in admiration. Soon thereafter, a tall man dressed in the finest leather emerged from a narrow alley next to the grand staircase leading to the palace entrance itself, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Now,” the man began. “What is this commotion all about? The day has barely begun.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Alyart said to the man. “I am Alyart Dunedas of the Cattle Folk and I bring to your king a gift of three of our most prized oxen from our master, Haykun Irindar of the Irindar region.”

The man quickly lowered his hand, and looked out towards the three oxen with raised eyebrows, before once again turning his gaze towards Nuri and his father.

“Well then,” the man said. “You’re in luck, for I am the stablemaster here at the palace, and counselor to the king himself when it comes to these matters. Dismount please and join me inside to discuss your generous offering in private.”

Alyart turned to Nuri. “Stay here son, and watch the oxen and horses. Make sure they are safe and well kept.”

With that, Alyart got off his horse and joined the stablemaster, as they made their way up the staircase to the palace’s entrance, before disappearing behind its large wooden doors.

Nuri remained on his horse and kept a watchful eye over the oxen, as more people gathered around him to look at them. However, the blurred images of what he had seen during his visions that night still lingered in his mind. It seemed as if they were becoming more clear with time, as he could see ripples of orange and gray and red. The ominous feeling he had incurred still sat with him, as he tried to focus on protecting their oxen. He thought to himself that whatever he had seen must have been important, otherwise he would not have as much trouble forgetting the vision’s influence over him.

After almost an hour, Alyart and the stablemaster reappeared from the palace entrance, walked down the staircase and greeted Nuri with a laugh. Both seemed to be in good spirits, and finished speaking to each other, shaking hands.

“Boys, take the oxen to their new home,” the stablemaster shouted, motioning for the stable boys to take the oxen towards the palace stables.

Alyart then carefully placed a scroll of parchment under his coat, and said his goodbyes to the stablemaster. He mounted his horse and trotted over to his son. “The direction of the wind has not changed, Son, and we need to head in a southward direction now. So, we will have to travel by land,” Alyart explained. “We will ride along the coastline for a day or two until we reach the territory of the Cattle Folk, so we can reach home again.”

“Go home?” Nuri asked softly. “How are we to go back now after stealing the oxen from Master Haykun? He will have us killed.”

Alyart stopped and turned to meet his son’s eyes, before giving him the same strange sad look he had given him on the boat.

“My son,” Alyart replied. “The future has been written, it is not for us to toil with.”

Nuri could feel tears begin to well up in his eyes as he followed his father through the city streets, until they reached the southern gate. There, they brought their horses to a gallop into the open grasslands ahead.

For several hours, the two rode a rudimentary pathway along the coast of the Large Inner Sea, until they reached the ford on the river Rana. There, they slowed down their horses. The air had begun to grow cold, and while they crossed the river, Nuri put on a cloak he had brought from home to wrap himself up. As he tried to tie it around his shoulders, he could feel his hands slipping. The effects of smoking the mushrooms had still not fully left him, he thought, as the two continued to ride southward in the direction of the city of Sinura, the second largest city of the Mano realm.

After crossing the river, they rode past one of the estate villages surrounding Sinura. The village consisted of a humble mansion, surrounded by a handful of farms amidst several large crop fields and orchards. They noticed a large bonfire in the center square of the village, and a large hog roasting over the flames. Around the fire, it seemed like the whole village had gathered in celebration, waiting for their stomachs to be filled with the delicious smelling meat.

“It will rain again soon. Let’s see if we are welcome here,” Alyart said with a joyless smile on his face, before he dismounted his horse and walked in the direction of the square.

Nuri followed his father’s example and listened as Alyart talked to one the village elders, who soon offered them drink, food and shelter. They had just made themselves welcome, when Nuri began to experience a headache like no other. His vision began to go blurry as he stared into the fire, as streaks of red and orange and gray crossed his mind. Suddenly, from one of the surrounding orchards, three familiar figures emerged on horseback.

As Nuri regained his vision, he heard his father shout to him to get back to the horses, but it was too late. The three sons of Haykun Irindar, their swords drawn, had made their way into the village and cut them off. The commotion had caused the people of the village to flee, as drops of rain began to fall upon their heads. Quickly, the three brothers formed a line in front of Nuri and his father, and dismounted one by one.

“There’s nowhere to run, old man,” Rilyor shouted towards Alyart, before looking at Nuri. “Too bad the boy will have to die as well, but that’s your doing.”

Alyart glanced at Nuri, before unsheathing his own sword. He gestured for Nuri to run, as he prepared to face off their pursuers. Nuri did as his father told him, and ran to hide behind one of the village barns, while Alyart clashed with all three of his opponents. Blade met blade as golden sparks flew into the now pouring rain, which began to extinguish the fire and produced a thick plume of smoke. Nuri closed his eyes and hoped for this all to pass.

Alyart kept up with his opponents for as long as he could, but he was no match for all three brothers at once. It wasn’t long before one of them struck Alyart’s sword arm. Laughing out loud, Rilyor left Alyart to his two younger brothers. Rilyor quickly found Nuri, dragging him out by his hair from behind the barn towards his father, who was desperately fighting off Rilyor’s two younger brothers.

“Perhaps this one should die first,” Rilyor laughed. “Then we’ll deal with the Sage.”

Rilyor then pushed Nuri to the ground, kicking him once in the stomach, and then repeatedly in the head. Finally, Rilyor picked Nuri up by the hair, dragged him closer toward Alyart, now cornered by his two opponents. There, as blood flowed down his face, Nuri was forced to his knees. Rilyor smiled towards Alyart, as he drew his sword and positioned the blade close to Nuri’s neck. Nuri felt blood from a head wound dripping down his face and found himself struggling to remain conscious. He saw his father dropping his sword in an attempt for Rilyor to spare his son, but then one of Rilyor’s brothers swiftly thrusted his blade into Alyart’s chest and pulled it back out again. Nuri felt his eyes slowly close as his father fell to the ground, the same strange and joyless smile on his face.

His father had foreseen that this would happen; Nuri was sure of it now. He went in and out of consciousness for a while, and what he saw when he managed to briefly open his eyes seemed to be nothing more than a blur. They had thrown him in the back of one of the carts in the estate village. Opposite him lay his father on a stack of hay, a blood-stained sword laying next to him. Nuri could smell the smoke of the extinguished fire in the background, as darkness finally claimed him fully.

Nuri spent the rest of the journey back to the Irindar region unconscious in the back of the cart, fighting the demons within the prison of his mind. Occasionally, he felt the cart stumbling on some loose rocks in the road, and heard the voices of Hyakun Irindar’s sons. He tried to move, to scream, but he was unable to escape the shadow world in his mind.

When Nuri did finally awaken, it was by way of a bucket of cold water being thrown into his face by Rilyor. It was the middle of the night, and Nuri found himself lying on the ground in front of master Haykun and his three sons, the body of his father next to him. They had arrived back in the Irindar region.

“There we are,” Rilyor said aloud. “The boy is finally awake.”

“And what to do with you,” Master Haykun said to Nuri. “I should probably have you join your late father. After all, you’ll want revenge, won't you?”

Nuri could not stand it anymore, and crawled towards his father, wrapping him in his arms. Tears poured from his eyes, as the pain from his head was overshadowed by feelings of grief. Finally, he mustered the courage to blurt something out.

“I’d rather follow my father to the grave than serve you or this wicked region one second longer. Finish it, and kill me,” Nuri shouted, crying.

As he held his father, Nuri felt the scroll of parchment tucked beneath Alyart’s coat. Taking it from his body, Nuri opened its red wax seal, which was shaped in the form of the royal emblem of the kingdom of Mano. His eyes darted over the words.

“What is that?” Master Haykun yelled, before snatching the scroll out of Nuri’s hands, and investigating the seal. Reading the scroll aloud, Haykun’s face slowly turned from one of content to one of regret. Eventually, he turned white.

“I, Iriyan Amidiyon, king of Mano and all its holdings,” Haykun read to those gathered, “hereby declare that from this day forward, the city of Mano and the Irindar region, which is based in the territory of the Cattle Folk, shall officially be joined in a cattle trade treaty. Any and all who oppose this treaty shall be tried in the court of Mano as a traitor to our newfound kinship.”

While Nuri looked up at them, Master Haykun’s sons gathered around their father and inspected the scroll, its seal and the signature on the bottom of the parchment. Nuri saw in Master Haykun’s eyes that he recognised that the scroll was authentic, and that his cattle keeper Alyart Dunedas had been right all along. That his vision of prosperity for the Irindar region had come true, and that soon they would become wealthy with riches from the treaty.

Master Haykun looked at Nuri. “The Sages are real… I understand that now,” he said slowly. “I should have never doubted your father, and I shall never doubt you from here on, Nuri Dunedas, as the both of you must be descended from the same divine bloodline; of Gidiyon, God of the Heavens.”

Nuri slowly stood up, standing above his father, as tears continued to fall along his face. Despite still feeling dizzy, his face was filled with anger. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Rilyor slowly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Haykun gestured to his oldest son to stand down. “My boy,” he then sighed, looking Nuri in the eyes with an almost fatherly look. “I am now in a state of deep regret and grief, and cannot salvage what I have done. Your father was a good man; and I have not been. What can I give to you, to repay my debt to you? Please ask for anything.”

As Haykun finished speaking, he approached Nuri and stretched out his arms to hold the boy. Nuri could see that Haykun was genuine, but could not at this moment forgive him for what he had done. He pushed the region master away from him.

“If you will not accept my help,” Haykun said, “or at least not directly, please consider what I shall tell you now.” Haykun looked down at Alyart’s cold body. “I swear upon your father’s spirit to uphold his cause; which I only now understand. Today, as region master of the Irindar region, I will formally instate a new guild, to be named hereafter the Guild of Sages. And I bid onto you, Nuri, to be among the first generation of its members. This way, I hope I am able to provide you with something that most closely resembles that which I have taken from you: a family. I pray to the Gods, that your father’s gift may live on through you and your descendants. And… that, in the eyes of the Gods, my sins will not compromise the invaluable gift Alyart Dunedas has bestowed upon my family and the region over which I rule; upon the struggling Cattle Folk as a whole.”

Nuri could not bring himself to say anything, but now fully realized that his father had known all along that this future—precisely this future—would come to fruition. That all his father had done, he had done knowing that he would sacrifice his life for the Cattle Folk, and leave behind an orphaned son. Thus, Nuri bid his region master and his sons farewell, carrying his father’s body back to the home they had shared his whole life.

As Nuri buried his father’s body in their garden, he looked upwards towards the heavens. A strange feeling overcame him. After filling in the grave, he stared at the divine nebula up above and could now clearly see the shapes and patterns his father had told him about. It was at that point he knew with unexpected certainty that he would carry on his father’s legacy. That he would become a member of the Guild of Sages and make sure the people of the Cattle Folk would never forget the story of Alyart Dunedas, who had given his life to save their society from its demise. And Nuri knew that he would do his father proud.