It was probably luck. When the winds of war swept across the hidden parts of elphinic lands, Phoebe Elizabeth was in the Sanctuary. She had her eyes closed and head bowed, a single drop of blood shimmering in the basin in front of her.
Everything jumbled together. Phoebe felt wards go up around the sanctuary, and then shields surrounded her person. When the fire whirl hit, she could hear screams. Her grandmother next to her burned, embers creeping from the centre out. Her flesh smoldered like the edges of paper. The priestess' skin flayed from her bones. Blood swirled in every direction, but the shields around Phoebe held.
Time stood still. The wind still blew, but now her father stood before her. He wasn't… right. Something about him smelled strange, like the sweet incense of funeral rites. He knelt, holding his arms out. "Bethy, sweetheart. Come here."
It was her Papa's voice, in their secret tongue, and she ran to him. As he hugged her tightly, he spoke. "I don't have much time, little love. Magic and will and blood and war. I must do my part." He gently put her from him and pulled a thin black stick and a small gold key from his coat. "These were mine, and they will tell the goblins who you are. You must not speak or reveal too much, too soon, for they will not understand. Find the Seer, Bethy."
"Papa?" Bethy looked at him with confusion in her eyes.
He clasped her to him again. "I love you, Phoebe Elizabeth Max. Be safe. Remember who you are."
The wind swirled again, ice this time, and their moment was lost. Phoebe was spun into the air, ripped from her papa's arms. He watched her go as she screamed in pain, shards of ice cutting like glass, his eyes dry. Memories could not cry. He'd traded life and unlife and the sweetness of death for this chance for his little girl. He just hoped the goddess would keep her word, as he offered the last of himself for her use. His last thoughts were of his child as he faded into the exile of an afterlife not his own.