Revakkrein

In a time long forgotten, the sun of the world had a fit, lashing to the surrounding areas and causing unbearable heat upon the land. Such things caused a longstanding famine to remain for hundreds of years. Crying to their gods, the starving people, ancestors of the small group known as The Crows, begged for forgiveness for whatever sins that may have caused such a retribution.

Their cries, so the story goes, struck the heart of one golden god. Seeking to protect while the others sought to destroy, he was the deity who controlled the sunlight. He went against his brothers and sisters, ceasing the agony he caused. He sought the power of the one he thought would assist, the god of weather. Instead, he was cast out of the pantheon, though with him he took the power of the sun. Never again would they dare such a thing.


He knew not how the world he saved functioned. He spent many eons wandering, finding that none recalled him, or even his pantheon. Such a thing bothered him, for a time. But every claim that he was a god was met with him being hunted and chased away, his body being disabled for increasingly longer amounts of time. Finally, he happened upon the territory of the goddess that replaced an old friend in the hearts of the newest generation.

He wandered, eventually into the heart of a grand and powerful fortress. Or such it was in the past. He could feel such a wondrous history in the stones and walls. Lifting his eyes, he found weapons pointed close. He, too, felt a mystery and history on the guardian that he was brought before. His voice spoke, for the first time in this life. It was a grand voice, though it came in hardly a whisper it could be heard by all who sat near. It felt warm to those who heard it, as if the embrace of a perfectly warm day.

“Your generation does not remember who I am,” He’d said, hardly lowering his gaze from the eyes of the one he knew was the leader of the clan, “I have grown to accept this. But you would accept. You, born from both light and shadow. I believe…” He hummed in thought, deciding to speak no further.


He was meant to be punished for wandering into their territory. But a voice, seeming so familiar, spoke to his defense. The voice belonged to, he was certain, one of those who cried for his forgiveness. He was not allowed to see who spoke until the following morning, though before her, there was another, who came to the cell he was being held inside. She lowered her head in a bow to the sun.

It was a rather tiny thing, a fae as he had learned her breed called. She had lightly colored scales, which reminded him of the one who was replaced. Her voice seemed even to match that which was forgotten, a soft and raspy sound, as if her throat were full of pebbles. The bow didn’t remain for very long, however.

“Lisil said you were coming,” she began, her head lifting as her wings spread. He felt a smile grace upon his features, as she moved closer to him, “I’ve hardly managed to convince Aetius to keep The Crows here.”

Ah, the crow. It had been his sacred animal, if he recalled. And he did. He knew of his past. This group, he presumed, by the coming words, were those descended from those who cried his mercy. He soon found himself correct, stepping into the sunlight that, for the first time in an age, felt gentle upon his back. No longer did it feel as though it glared upon him. Those who remained were meager in number, but considerable in heart and loyalty to him. His eyes took in their forms, their necks bowed in respect to his grace. He ordered them stand. The other who had an appearance like him, one named Aetius, with wings of fire and body of coals and ash, was the leader of them.

Ah, of course. His Crows were spies, and assassins. Two wonderfully fitting roles in one, he was more than happy to be returned to their side. The living god of The Crows, the god of the sun, patron of those who worked in secretive crafts. The sacred sun of yore.