Illuminating the abyss, Fire and Lightning thunder towards a wall of frozen Water, propelled by the fury of Wind. The cacophony of the sound echoes throughout the emptiness. Amidst cascading waves of silence, a transformation occurs. Cells alter and mutate. Atoms fuse and from with in this chaos ... the first star is born.

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In a time long before time had meaning, ethereal beings amused themselves by controlling and contorting the elements. Fire, Water, Wind and Lightning were hurled about the cosmos in a haphazard fashion of varying shape and form. Certain combinations of the elemental properties would at times cause them to mutate. It was at one such juncture, when all the elements were thrust together in a violent concussion of light and sound that the first star formed. Subsequent endeavors gave birth to the planets and their moons.

Ultimately, life evolved. As it did, the ethereal beings became divided. There were those that supported the evolution of life and wished to study its development. They wished to observe and discover to what end it would lead. In opposition, there were those of the etherals that lobbied for life’s exploitation. They sought to examine its limits. They wanted to experiment with and test mortality. They wanted to be gods.

War between the two factions erupted. The battles were fierce by any standard. Entire populaces of many planets fell victim to the savagely violent feud. Several species of emerging life were extinct before their presence was even known.

When the conflict was finally settled, the victory ensured that life would indeed have the right to exist. Many of the opposition’s leaders were imprisoned within the planets that had somehow managed to survive. They were banished inside the cores of planets that they themselves had helped create. As they were unaccustomed to isolation, the imprisoned beings were given some measure of influence over life as it evolved around them. Many were impatient and found themselves toying eternally with amoeba like, gelatinous, single celled life forms. This was not the case with Meridious.

His heart, if he had one, beat patience. His breath was the scent of evolution. His eyes beheld the future and saw the path of his release. He could taste his freedom. Life around him grew to consciousness, self-awareness and eventual understanding. Primitive peoples developed and then flourished. After a time their civilization grew, and they named themselves “The People Of The Wind.”

Meridius influenced their development. He insidiously whispered tales of his existence into the ears of all who would listen. He became embedded into their folklore, instilling himself as their god of revenge and restitution. He gave to them the means of his escape. When his name was called upon and the words of binding spoken, he would be released. He would be freed from his prison and bound to the world of mortality. As he began recalling the breath of The People’s High Priest, Meridious felt his wait finally nearing its end.

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Arulis was dying. Of this there was little doubt. His breath came slow and painful. Each new gasp was more labored and weak. The burning in his lungs rose to a fevered pitch. The Gods were reclaiming his Wind. Once a strong and proud man, he resembled little more at the moment than a fish above the water line.

He was worried for his people. As their High Priest, he served as both healer and wise man. He knew enough to recognize the illness that had befallen him. He also knew it would claim him and his time was growing short. As that knowledge sank in, he faced a serious dilemma. He had to make a decision. His choice would affect the future of his people. It was the most difficult moment of his life. He had to name his successor.

Transfer of the position typically went to the first-born son of the current High Priest. His grandfather however, had named Arulis. The man had not been gifted with any male offspring. The Gods had recalled his wife at the birthing of their only daughter. Upon the arrival of Arulis, it was said that grandfather had spent a full moon in solitude. He isolated himself to celebrate and praise the wisdom of the Gods.

Arulis had been twice gifted. He had been sent two sons, D’arrls and Cha’arin. As the eldest son, D’arrls was the traditional and assumed choice for the naming ceremony. However, he was cold, callous and cruel. He wore an air of arrogance and assumption. He believed himself more important than the others. He felt he was a class or station above the rest. He was certain that The People owed him something, owed him everything. D’arrls was just waiting for them to bring it to him. Under his leadership, The People were certain to fall into dark times.

Cha’arin on the other hand, was charismatic and kind. He was unassuming and understanding. He had a love of all things and cared deeply for his people. He felt he owed them everything. His compassion would help The People prosper as long as the traditionalists and his brother would accept his leadership. He would be the youngest to ever hold the position if he were named. Arulis wasn’t certain that Cha’arin was ready for the responsibility to fall to him. He wished he had more time.

Arulis sighed and signaled to the watching, waiting council of elders that he was ready. They huddled close as he drew one last ragged breath. He breathed out his son’s name. His eyes focused on some distant faraway place and he whispered for the Gods to have mercy on him and his people. Then his spirit departed to rejoin his ancestors.