Year 759 Draenü Rise

Many eons ago, before the rock of the mortal realm was ever founded and revitalized to inhabit mortal-kind. There were three very ancient brothers inside the expansive galaxy. Manuk, the fiery star of the three, Chemuk, the thunderous one with many elements imploding on himself, and Anukrin with his chilling presence that formed the ice asteroids around him. The three traveled the glittery starry expanse for more than a millennium with no sense of purpose or understanding of their existence. The only thing that was constant was their relationship with each other and that they must keep moving. One day, Chemuk grew weary of his travels and decided to take refuge on a lone rock that floated aimlessly like any other. Upon taking a seat on this rock, Chemuk's elements made it grow and shape into this lifeless sphere. It amazed the other two brothers, to them Chemuk unintentionally created something so extraordinary in the sea of stars just because he stopped. The other two brothers halted their voyage and discarded their urge to keep moving, inspecting this new project. Manuk used his molten body to fuel the sphere, giving it life within but too hot on the surface for anything more. Unlike their third brother, Chemuk and Manuk were ecstatic about their progress. Anukrin did not rejoice with the two, finding this ball is not worthy of it unless he planted his own touches.

His ice touch chilled the surface, making it hospitable for the rain that followed suit. Rain brought on the plants. Plants that help sustain life. This place is named Erathea and it will become the three brothers' playground.

"It's the reason why we exist now, if you can believe that cub." A deep soft voice manages to pierce through the night chorus. Tonight, is a very sultry day, with the humidity thick enough to add a layer of water right above the skin. The night stringers churn their beautiful music, sharing the space of noise with a howling cry of a few nightsingers in the distance. The tall jungle trees rope around this empty field, leaving a perfect opening to the star-filled sky above. The two-half crested moons are about to cross each other for what is known as the official handshake of the gods. It happens after every second birth moon of a young teenager; this is her eighth moon crossing alive and she only recalls three of them. But her father swears by it.

This young teen is a scrawny, little female with barely any assets that can prove that she was either gender, also wore leather clothing to cover herself modestly. Her leather padded top, and bottom were thick enough to cover herself and to make her sweaty. She hated wearing clothes this thick during this season. It shows in her pouting expression. Short brown curly locks bounced above her head whenever the gust came through, with obvious tints of red blending within the fade of black like embers in a campfire. Besides the unique coloration of her hair, her eyes glitter silver like the moons above their heads. Skin as dark as the brown of her leather top but nowhere as dark as the shadows of the jungles that surround them.

Them...

A man stood beside her where she decided to slouch on the ground with the weight of her latest angst on her spine. Her father.

He didn't exactly look like her, or at least she didn't carry much of his resemblance. Bright red hair stopping just at his shoulders, dancing wild in the wind and thick despite the straightness. He is a man of skin that can stand out in the darkest of hours, with freckling along his exposed shoulders and neck from all the times his skin took in too much sunlight. Maybe around seventy-four inches in height, and his lankiness is the one thing that resembles him the most, but the many years of fighting to survive showed beneath the translucence of his skin.

Power resonated out of his muscles like a heated drum, that she could not truly pinpoint the origins of or could visibly see it. All she could tell, beneath the upward curl of his whiskered lip, was that he had enough time in this humid world to conquer even the most temperamental beast. Including one that shared a long enough moment to create this teenager a few moon crossings ago.

His sky-blue eyes never wandered from the moons, both fists were placed on his belted hips and the oversized leather shirt hung loose on his thin frame. He was not particularly good at keeping weight on, as her mother would claim in a neutral tone, but no illness ailed him. Another trait that seems to pass on to this teenager only that she can control mana. The life force that warms everybody, whirs the soul into action, and helps create new life. This mana is a heat that comes out of her in the form of destructive fire. A skill that comes out without her consent due to her latest changes in her, the changes that a young woman like her is enduring painstakingly.

Changes that only her mother can half-understand, since she was never born with mana ready at her fingertips.

This heat sprouts a fire between her fingers, moving the afflicted hand and shoving it into the dewed grass next to her. The fire sizzles out, loud enough for her father to perk his head just slightly.

"Rhea. Do you understand why I am telling you this story?"

"Papa...this story does not change every time you tell me." I am done hearing it. Rhea did not control the groan that escape the depths of her chest.

Her father had many stories, and a few she cared less for. The creation of their Erathea is the most foolish one of all and yet her father is obsessed with reminding her about it in all different languages.

Today, he decided to speak to her purely in Kreovin. The words always seem to dance off their tongues like an ancient song, even more ancient than the night singers out there. "Until you can cite this before I do, then I will never stop."

"Fine!" Rhea let out another groan, she allows herself to lay on the wet grass and her hotter body sizzles up the rain dew. Her aggravation burns up her body. "The godly brothers bind their contracts in the crossing of the moons. Contracts are never one of the same, but the first is always unbreakable. The contract of continual protection, one fails the other two will support them.... I do not understand how THAT can answer my question."

"Clearly, I have to tell it again." Her retort made her father laugh, one filling with much joy despite his dealt with a tyrannical young lady.

He now peers away from the cosmic phenomenon, moving to hover over her and displaying his big grin underneath all that face scruff. His beard is trimmed close to his chin line. Always felt like a big tigrou mane when he nuzzled her too aggressively in the past. Her father has no concept on not dote after her at any point of the day. "Fire cub, look in your mind."

"Again. How does this-" She swing her arms out forward, showing the mist that evaporates from her arms. It was always strange that she could dry herself while her mother could not. "Have anything to do with the creation of Erathea? I just asked you why I can do this, and you went on about- "

He pulls her up with her arms, which jolts her out of her rants. He hid the strength somewhere in his lanky frame, not even her sixty-two-inch burning body slowed him. He moves her on her feet and ignores the obvious burns from touching her, even patting the crown of curls on her head.

He never shows pain when he touches her during these episodes. Strangely, his skin heals in mere breaths when he scalded from the sun alone without any rhyme or reason. While her mother prepared the stone sticks to get Rhea's attention, her father could easily deal with her bouts of powers.

Another question he loves to answer in random philosophical stories. He did not miss a step, pointing his finger to his temple. "Everything goes back to the birth of Erathea. There have been over a million crossings and contracts since then. One involves your powers, fire cub."

"I am too old to accept that answer..." Rhea did not let her annoyance go, glaring at her father with all of it. Her hot arms crossed over her leather-covered chest, burning a large spot wherever her skin touched the fabric. Fire sprouts on her right shoulder to prove that her current clothes are next to perish before her avoidant father.

"That...you certainly are. Time has not slowed once, and yet I remember when you bellowed so loud in your mother's arms like yesterday. You rocked the very walls of the cave-"

"Enough Papa-" She really could not take another retelling of her birth story. Just like the birth of Erathea, he finds no limit to vomiting the phrases. There are only two people that must listen, her mother and herself. Neither are ever thrilled to hear about his fanatical retellings.

"Oh. Fine." His eyes smile with his lips, his hand reaching to pinch her cheek as a form of aggressive endearment they shared. She flinches, buckling under the action like a mere child. Even her fire dissolves.

It was the perfect cure all for an angsty teenager. Though her father did not keep pinching her, petting her head again. It always follows suit with a head pat. What is going to happen when Rhea becomes too old even for that?

"My dear Rhea. Your mother and I need a little more time to explain everything." His expression suddenly darkens, a very strange expression. He rarely open to being negative around Rhea and even less so his rage. Her parents seldom argued, keeping their disagreements either hushed conversations or looks that only they can decipher. They had to be creative when the three of them had to share a small stone hide-out together with little to no soundproof.

"Then at least tell me this...why did you leave the world out there?" Rhea wants the truth at least to rest easier tonight. Her emotions are out of control, even pushing this question onto her mother, who answered simply that the world is not ready for people like them.

A simplified excuse. Typical of a mother with the mind and heart of a chieftain.

"Huh...looks like my hot headedness moved into my daughter's brain. I was looking for tha-" Her father did this nose wrinkle and the simple jest whenever he wants to change the subject. She is not a fool, trying to elbow him but he blocks it with a hand weathered from a life of hardship. He is never caught off-guard by her. Maybe when she was younger, he might have let things slide. But now she had to deal with her father as an adult with a mysterious set of skills and battle borne from the moment that she could raise her fists. "I did not mean to strike a nerve, sorry my cub."

"Tell me papa..." The smoke billows out of her button nose and between her clenching teeth. A common side effect of mages.

"Put that away and I will." Her father still had a lot of authority over her. Flames or not, he will easily put her in her place. He proves that to her just two days ago, if it were not for her impeccable healing, the bruise would still be there from the training.

"Understood." She sat right on the grass, cross-legged, and thought about how her mana is nothing more than a stream that flows and never stays in one place. The warmth that concentrated on her hands and face moves evenly through her like a steady web of streams. It is a lot harder with general grievances hanging onto her swell of power.

She took a long time to improve this practice, a fact that her father points out regularly. Her eyes stay shut, and she could hear him crunch the grass next to her to sit. He is not fearful of her struggles. "Think of mana as simply the flow of water. Although Chemuk rules the water, being Manuk's brother gives the element and mana very similar viscosity."

"Shush...you are ruining my focus." She gripes, but no matter what her current feelings are, his teachings always helped. Even here, her mana felt more in control.

"Heh, ready?" He asks, not really waiting for her to answer. Just starting his next tale, "Long ago there were sages..."

"Not this about world sages!" Rhea snaps, opening her eyelids to shoot him a very pointed stare.