In the edges of darkness, a fire blazes. A masking color of orange consuming the skies. Black clouds blot out the moon and stars. It spreads farther and farther, collapsing wood and bushes, consuming all life. Time only causes more destruction.
The sky begins to shift, throwing the fire in other directions. Then, water falls. It drops harder and thicker, beating down the flames. More smoke floods the air.
Just as dawn breaks, everything begins to settle. A great valley of death and ash lay below the mountains of Tarly. Mountains which reached beyond the clouds and are capped in cold, white beauty. Mountains of life the natives called them. Nothing kills anything passed the borders – not fire nor lightning, not even it’s own creatures.
A strange fog begins to sweep down the mountain side. It slowly covers the charred lands as if to mask the sadness. But soon, in the midst of the fog, a pile of ash begins to move. It raises up slightly before falling back down. Continuing this multiple times, it begins to reach higher and higher. Creatures from the mountain start to come down. A deer, a rabbit, a fox, a wolf, and even a lion. A strange collection of species coming together, surrounding this sentient ash pile.
It raises once more before taking a form. It creates a round head, and after, a torso. Soon comes arms with hands and fingers attached. It lifts itself more, revealing a lower half. It sprouts legs and feet, little toes pushing around the ash. The creature looks at its hands, clasping its fingers together. It’s gaze shifts to its toes which wiggle around like a barely functioning gadget. Shortly after examining its body, it sees the animals.
The animals just stare at the being. The being stares back. But then, the deer moves, backing away and letting the newborn go on its way. As the being steps over the pile, the ground turns green.