I. The Seed
How it all begins. Whispers, ideas, and visions of what could be, what is promised, what is foretold. An image which transpires in the mind and settles among the soil of thought. A spark. Life-water. A curtain which draws away and reveals... what? A stage, a platform, a path, a single staircase. A tower, lonesome and tall, sat atop a hill long forgotten and abandoned. The stage of one individual. Hushed voices enter the ear. Power. Let it fester. Let it grow. Let it stay burrowed in the dirt. Plant it again, and again, and again. Power.
Power.
Power.
How enticing. How acquainted and comforting the voice became, like a mantra that lifted the morale of the innermost spirits. She called it friend. She called it companion. She called it confidant. He calls himself Kel'drocos. The gardener replenished the hopes she had for the world. For herself. For her rise from the earth. Rise. How soothing the hand which planted the seed, gentle against the dirt, and just as smooth as it brought the water to satiate it. Foundation. A promise. Potential. A coin with eyes struck through. The seed.Rise.
Rise.
Rise.
II. The Sprout
How it grows. Weak, singular, and fragile against the bright rays of a plane unexplored. A new world. A new light. A new vision. The same entity, the same seed, but different. Growing. Reaching. Breaking through the soil. What rises to meet it? Other life sharing the same earth. Thorns and colors, crafted differently yet vividly. A rose among others in a wildly spread nest of prickles. A domestic battlefield, a turf war, a fight for who claims home as Home. The voice's words are fuel, the water which keeps the sprout alive. The light above is the hope, now physical, which shines overhead. Whispers from the rose bush arise to retaliate.
Die.
Die.
Die.
How it struggles. How thorns spread in tangles of vines. They surround the single leaf of the seed. Suffocate. Others called it refuge. Others called it home. She called it enemy. She called it traitor. They call themselves Refuge; she called herself Siora: Elder, Priestess, Leader. A queen of spikes with a regiment of disciples. I am power. The sprout which sought to end the other, to stifle all life, to eradicate the foreign entities among the soil. The thorns which spread strengthened the Gardener's work, standing tall among the spikes. Sunlight rained as hellfire. The queen of spikes lost her regiment piece by piece, vine by vine, leaving only her singular rose. Weak against the sun, weak against Power's Prodigy. Prodigy watched her incinerate and claimed her crown.Burn.
Burn.
Burn.
III. The Bud
How it evolves. Victory, change, and growth, from leaf to floret. Rising above the ashes of the fallen. Higher and higher it stands until it must gaze down to view the earth. Leaves spread like wings from the stalk of the body. Beauty emerging, but what will it reveal? Hints of color, unknown to the eyes. Potential again. More and more gazes attract to this bud of promise. What will it bring? The arrival of a new tender with sultry touch. Believe. Acquaint it. Familiarize with it. Become one with this touch. Let it console, let it comfort, and let it steer.
Watch.
Watch.
Watch.
How it unfolds. How it dances in the breeze. This was the promise the mentor gave. To be as beautiful as she, as exotic, as enticing. Desire. Want. Captivate. She wanted more. She learned more. She called her teacher. She called herself Tavyani. The knowing flower which guided the bud to wholeness. How she swayed with every shift in the wind and remained standing. Powerful, towering, dangerous. She who mastered power and made it malleable to her devices.Learn.
Learn.
Learn.
IV. The Blossom
How it flowers. Petals which shed newfound colors unlike those before it, differing and unique. How gentle it seemed, yet durable it was. Unbreakable, unyielding, unrivaled. A creation founded by pedestals of strength and confidence, and stronger still it grew. Protected by blade; she called him companion. He calls himself Jared, marked by the men of the Empire. A veteran, a warrior crafty and conniving. He lent knowledge on trust: where it goes and where it must not.
How it flourishes. Roots which run deeper into the earth day by day. As they extend, so too does the vivacious coloration of the blossom. Watered, touched by sunlight, surmounting the threat of weeds by strength and by aid. Unforgotten and not abandoned. Shielded by those who tended to its growth; she knew her well. She knew her better now. Now, she calls herself Valarosta. Pale beauties which shimmer day and night, under moon and stars. Mentor and student now equal, now their own. Together.
How it emboldens. A stalk which solidifies like the stump of a tree, bridging root to crown without interruption. A refuge that holds such confidence in its own foundation will not fall so easily, and now the ground became less easy to look upon. Clouds grew larger and larger. The sun was no longer a dot in the sky but the image of a god. This is what it felt to rise. Standing upon the same ground, seeing from the same levels as those better than she. She met one. She called him Commander. She knew him as a man with power at his hands. He calls himself William. The wolf aged by time and sharpened by experience. He taught her courage.
How it yearns. By the whispers of the future, a glimpse into what could be, the same seed previously planted finds more to hope for. Power is always there. A crooked finger curling, beckoning, and whisking away. Now she can reach it. Now she can find it, no longer shrouded by darkness or clouds. The one who could view it all, she knew him but one way, and that is Beggar. Yet the Beggar glimpsed and revealed the stones of the path aligning. The Sun; Justice; The World; The Reverse Temperance; The Lovers; Detachment.
Praise.
Glory.
Reward.
Now all that remained were choices. From the highest tower at a view that met the clouds at their level, eye to eye with every storm or sunshine, all things were clear. The symbols of the promise and hope now combined into one package: Choices. Choices that delved down two paths. One of victory. One of loss. As the bird soars overhead, so too could she. She could break from the earth she rose from and forever take to the skies. The voice of one she knew but once lingered. It called for her. Bring her to me. Oh, how she wanted it. Only one threat loomed now: the threat of failure. The ghost of her past worriedly echoed this possibility, but her gaze extended far beyond the crowns of trees. Now it sought for more and surpassed all the ghosts she conquered before. Now she knew Temptation at its source. Now its voice rang clear.Power.
Power.
Power.
