Once, when the world was yet trapped in darkness, the goddess of Mana felled 8 incarnations of disaster that guided the world to destruction, the God-Beasts, with the Sword of Mana, and sealed them in 8 stones. And, as the darkness left, the world was created.
The goddess of Mana turned herself into a tree, and fell asleep. Many years passed…
Due to the action of some who plot to unleash the God-Beasts from the stones, obtain power surpassing even that of the gods, and to make the world their own, conflict breaks out heralding the end of peace…
Mana is rapidly disappearing from the earth. Even the Mana tree has begun to wither…
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The faerie touched the weathering roots of the Mana tree, pulling back her minute hand as she felt the slimy bark. Beneath her was a pool of water, her reflection clouded by the unseen pollution that had struck the Holyland. The goddess's cries from deep within the tree reverberated in her soul, for Mana was disappearing, being depleted by an unknown force.
"Goddess…" came the faint sob as the faerie crouched down before the tree. Not a single wind caressed her hair to assure her; the air was dead still and humid beyond belief. It oppressed her, threatening to crush her tiny body and toss it away without a second thought.
"What is happening?" Opalescent wings beat against deaf ears, trying to stir up the dreary atmosphere. Glancing up, her teary eyes drank in the sight of forlorn clouds against the red-tinted sky. Everywhere was the feeling of death and decay, covering the Holyland slowly in a blanket of despair.
"Why won't you answer?" A single crystal tear dropped from her cheek and plopped into the water, melting into the murky depths. Drab plants that had once been tropical beauties were devoid of their usual vivid wildlife. Not a creature was to be seen in the dying Holyland.
"Sisters, where are you?"
A faint hum reached her ears, and the faerie turned to see three of her kin.
"The goddess is dying," stated one, her face twisted into a mask of pain.
"The Mana is disappearing," declared another, blue eyes downcast.
"What can we do?" the last queried, wringing her hands worriedly.
Straightening her cyan smock, the crouching faerie got up. "I fear there is nothing we can do." Her voice choked up on her, pushing her to the brink of tears.
"There must be something!" the three chorused, floundering for an answer.
"Can't we find the Hero?" the curious last one questioned.
"Yes, yes, the Hero! He'll save the Mana!"
"He'll slay the evil one for sure!"
The first faerie turned towards the towering Mana tree, ducking her head as a leaf withered and fell upon her. She grabbed at the wrinkled object, crushing it to dust in her hands. Tossing aside the remains in disgust, she cried, "Mana goddess, please forgive us, but we must leave your side and forget our valiant watch. There is a Hero to be found if we are to save this Holyland."
Her trio of kinfolk celebrated, dancing around and hugging each other merrily. "The Hero, the Hero!" they shouted happily, relieved to find that there was an answer.
"Please, please, stop it!" the beginning faerie screeched. Her voice echoed eerily in the stillness as the three became subdued. "We must leave now to find the Hero and return as soon as possible. It will be a long and hard journey, so gather your strength, girls. You will need it."
The last faerie gulped, unsure of whether she would be able to make it or not.
"Let us go."
They sprung into the air as a quartet, tiny wings defying the deafening silence of the deserted Holyland. And it was they who would oppose this evil and find the Hero, the one that would be the salvation of them all.