Marilla va I Fenumë

Mother always told me of the tale of the siblings. She used to whisper of their massive wings and crackling flame breath, how it would light up the sky in times of old or darken it. How the earth itself was a child of their magic, how it bent to their will.   What I know now is different, what I know now is the siblings are more than just darkness and light, fire and ice. They are the mother, they are the father. Their egg is the world, it gave them life, and us. We share the same hot lifeblood, because they created us from themselves, from the world. From the pearl, that gem, they rose and spent eternity within the weave, being nurtured by it, and when they came of age, they conceived us, and the world.   O' Father Bahamut, Lord of Winter and all its takings, your flame is cold, and your teachings of purity and holy silver light are paths that are difficult to tread, much like the hunter seeking prey in the darkest depths of winter, it is not an easy task, but it is rewarding.   O' Mother Tiamat, Lady of Spring and all its givings, your flame is hot, and your teachings of mastering indulgence and the darkness within one's self are beautiful, much like the delicate blooming of an Oleander, dangerous to some, but a blessing to others.   Neither may create without the other, neither may overtake the other, neither may subdue nor may they be apart. They intertwine and weave around each other like the stitches of a warm blanket or the cold vastness of the sea of stars above. And so, they wove each of us together, their own creations, their children, yet also their playthings, as if we were treasured dolls.   Yet, we all each lacked the spark, all each lacked the true life, something that could not simply be woven by material or plucked from the stars. We needed a piece of them within us, but they could not scorch us with their physical forms, for even a fraction of their bodies were too great for us to handle, we would burn up as if we were matches.   But it was within that same flickering ember that became the spark of true life, a soul, for us. Together they combined their fire, a beautiful torrent of glimmer and color that did not burn us, no, instead it became the very thing that would connect us to them.   Our very soul, and the one thing that binds all living creatures made within this realm. It is magic, it is our heart, our core, our essence. With it we love, we breathe, we enjoy warm food, and we weep with great sorrow. However, we also feel anger, and jealousy. We betray and divise sinister intentions, for it keeps us in balance, just as they are.   Yet, flames flicker, they die, yet can be rekindled, they churn like the endless sea or remain still like the unending mountains. Not only that, but not all flames burn equal, some are blessed with the mother's and father's touch more than others. Deific entities are sent out to do tasks and keep all things as they should be, and the beings they, in turn, create simply have portions of their flame, not tainted, yet somehow twisted from the impure creation they have been given. Still, yet, this is part of the balance they create.   These are the things I have learned from my time at the academy, I hope to learn more here as time goes on.   Alexander Drakenstone.