"It has been told thee, o man, what is good, and what the lord requires of thee: only to do justly, to love mercy, and walk humbly with thy God." Micah 6:8
In a village not far from the ring, there sits an old woman on a street corner. She tells fortunes in exchange for trinkets she will, in turn, sell in another village. The old wife is happy with her existence. She's been a wanderer since her home was destroyed in a culling. Her family was either culled or killed when her home burned down around them. Her right leg still bears the scars.
In wandering, she has witnessed many things in the decades, both wondrous and horrible. Her age is respected and it is no surprise to her when village elders usher her to the Magistrate.
Her hearing is fading so she does not hear the discussion escalating as she nears.
"…rumors of Wraith attacks everywhere! Many will be required to save us! Perhaps our numbers have increased enough these hundred years to require two guardians!"
"Peace! No more of it! They are coming." A curtain moves in one of the windows. "She is old and growing weak. She walks slowly and doesn't travel well. Yes, this one will do."
"But…"
"No, Hephaestus. No more talk of two." The curtain falls back into place. "It is terrible enough that we should need one."
The door opens and the woman is led inside. She is welcomed warmly and she knows that they will be generous with shelter and food.
"Good mother, come this way. There is a fire waiting and food will soon be brought."
She is led further into the bowels of the town hall, though a door hidden by a tapestry. She pauses to admire the stitch work depicting the Ancestor's return and the demise of the Wraith.
In this hidden room, there sits a large chest on a dias. Great tomes of scrolls lay in cradles. In the center of this room is a pole rooted in the very foundation of the building. This place is the only remnant of the previous civilization and the oldest part of the village. Each time the building is destroyed, this one place remains hidden.
The woman looks around in confusion for the only fire burning is a bowl of fragrant embers before the ark. "Why have we come here? What is this?"
The magistrate says no more as the old woman is bound to the pole. She protests but all are deaf to her cries as they leave the room. "What is the meaning of this? What are you doing?"
Alone with the woman, the magistrate cups one hand over the dome of the ark and presses a sequence of symbols. Once finished, he raises his hands and closes his eyes.
"This I now do, I do for the good of all. May the Ancestors help us."
Keeping his eyes fearfully shut, he opens the ark, flooding the old hag in a brilliant light. She gasps and mumbles. He knows it is finished only when she gasps softly:
"I believe…"