Somewhere over the rough ocean waves, across the burned and blackened landscape of Atrata. Through the peachy pink and orange forests of the hinterlands. At the foot of the Farcaster peaks sits a small farmstead on a spring evening.
Inside the farmstead a human famer by the name of Morgan is putting his children Sindy and Aaron to bed
“Come one pa just one story before bed” whine the children
“Fine just one, and then it’s lights out… Have you ever heard the story of The Everflames?”
Ever since the time of The Dark Age had come to an end. Ever since The Four left us and freed the world from demons and evil. Life slowly crept into the land. Fish filled the seas, Forests spread across the land and Gods watched from the heavens.
And like they do now, Some gods walked the earth in secret, Pelor, the radiant god of the sun, often watched the world below with a quiet ache in his heart. Though worshiped and revered, he knew no equal, no companion. That changed when he saw her - Elira, a farmer in a sleepy village working in golden fields. She tilled the earth with hands hardened by labour, her laughter rising like birdsong with every sunrise.
Compelled by her spirit, Pelor descended in mortal guise. He called himself “Alon,” a traveling herbalist with a warm smile and a mysterious glow. Elira welcomed him with cautious curiosity, and soon the god and the woman fell into a rhythm - planting, harvesting, laughing. Their love grew like the crops she nurtured.
But gods, even in love, bring danger with them.
One night, while they watched the stars from her rooftop, Pelor placed a hand on her chest and whispered a blessing - a spark of his divine fire on her, meant to protect her. But love, as the gods often forget, is not always safe.
At first, the divine spark was a gift. Elira could call warmth to frostbitten crops, ignite hearths with a whisper. But the gift grew stronger, wild and untamed. Her hands began to smoulder in her sleep. Her crops began to scorch.
And then one night, it happened. A storm came. A bolt of fear struck her heart, and the fire within roared out. Her village, her farm and the home she built - it all burned.
Pelor found her among the ruins. He wanted to hold her, to say they would fix it. But Elira looked up at him with eyes that no longer belonged to the woman he had loved.
“You gave me this,” she said, trembling. “And I can’t control it.”
“Elira,” he whispered, “please, stay. Let me help.”
But she shook her head. “You are the sun, Pelor. You’re meant to shine from afar. I am fire now. And fire doesn’t belong in one place.”
She kissed him one last time and fled into the night.
Since then, travellers have told stories of a woman, seen only at dusk, sometimes walking alone and sometimes with a child. And when the sun sets a little slower, a little sadder, the faithful say Pelor is watching - hoping that someday, fire and sun might meet again.