Author's Note: This is a prologue. See the following chapter for a more detailed note.

If you're picking this up later and not sure whether you want to read this story or not, stick around until the chapter "To Strive, To Seek, To Find," where the shape of the story will become a little more clear.

Thanks for reading!

The first time I climbed this cliff, I was ten. Life at the shrine, I decided, was intolerably stupid. Nothing exciting happened—or at least, whenever it was about to, whenever I saw a dark fin slicing through the water, or a creepy doll abandoned in the forest, or a massive flower that reeked like rotting meat, and went to investigate, one of the other girls would snitch. Then: the whole tedious rigamarole that started with scoldings from the dorm mistress up to the high priestess and ended with another month of cleaning duty. I was sick of it all.

So I decided to run away.

I packed some berries, my bag of auric coins, and a bottle of water. First, I decided, I'd climb the cliff to see what the rest of the world looked like. Then, I'd walk to a place where no one had ever heard of the sea. The second goal was probably heretical, but I never made it that far.

Two hours later, I made it to the top of the cliff. I was out of aurics: I'd been periodically chucking them into the undergrowth, hoping some pokemon would take pity on me and carry me up the mountain. No luck. My water bottle was empty and my throat was dry. I had a pounding headache and was soaked in sweat even though I left my acolyte robes at the base of the cliff.

When I looked down, though, I forgot my pain. It was like my body itself had dissolved and I had become one of the all-seeing gods. The shrine was like one of the wooden trinkets that traders sometimes brought; the village houses, rows of sugar cubes. I could see a thin line of smoke past the forest and I knew that it was the Dry, huddling around a fire the same way we did.

Around it all, though, was the sea—so blue it hurt to look at—and the sky, its reflection. That's when I knew there was no way out.

The last time I climbed this cliff, it took me twenty minutes to walk up. Years of training made me strong. I'd been up often enough that I'd carved a path through the undergrowth.

By then, I'd learned to love my town, or at least parts of it. I looked past Lena's house to the cemetery where I thought I'd be buried someday. Then further, to the horizon, foggy even on the hottest days. There were islands I'd never visit and the sea—ceaseless, forever. Who knew what was out there. Here, I knew what each day would bring.

Then, a bell tolled and shook me from my reverie. A deep sound that made the sky shudder. In the dorm, the girls were waking up—bleary-eyed, confused at first, but then they remembered what the sound meant. The Comet Festival.

It was early that year, earlier than anyone expected, still the height of summer. The dragon's tears normally fell near the beginning of harvest season. But the high priestess's divination was right. That night, the sky wept.

I was wrong that there wouldn't be any surprises that day. And I guess I was wrong, too, when I was younger. There was a way out. The short way down. But my life wasn't that bad really.

Later, there would be all sorts of bullshit. Pirates, gods, politicians who should've retired years ago, unfriendly ghosts, some Important Rocks, oracles, the second most evil corporation, love.

That morning on the cliff, though, I spent another minute at peace, drinking in the view of my small world.

Something rustled in the bushes. I turned to look and swore I caught a glimpse of silver fur. But whatever it is slipped into the thickets. So I started the walk down. The others were expecting me.

Sometimes, I wonder what it'd have been like, one of those many long-gone days, to jump. Somehow, I already know. When you're in free fall, swallowed up by the endless blue, it's too late to wish for another world. But you can tell a different story if you find the right beginning.

I'll start here—