There is a legend told among the Shadowkin... A story that has been passed down through the generations for as long as the Eldest of the Elders can remember. Written upon the walls of the most ancient caves within the depths of the Whitestone is a story of a single Shadowkin that stands out among all the others.
In a time of great need would be born a Shadowkin as white as freshly fallen snow; and the White One would lead the Shadowkin to victory over the greatest of troubles. Nothing would stand in his way; nothing would take him down.
The White One would fight with courage and strength, and the entire Shadowkin Race would rally behind him. Nothing would stand in his way.
His white skin would be a symbol of hope and unity to all who saw it.
Beautiful sparks of light danced in the blackness around them as the young Enderman slowly approached his mate. He was no older then 150 years old. Fully mature for an Enderman, but still considered in his youth.
"Your daughter..." The Enderfemme whispered softly. After three hours of labor, she'd finally given birth and let him approach her. She looked exhausted, but her eyes beamed with joy and pride.
"Can I see her?" He whispered softly. His eyes shone with wonder. He was fairly young, but already strong and had the makings of a great Elder some day. This child was his fifth; but the wonder and joy of each new offspring filled his heart and made it swell with pride and excitement.
As the female shifted, lifting her head and uncurling, a gasp came from the young Enderman.
"Wh-White..." He whispered. "I can hardly believe it..." His voice was filled with awe, humbled to have received such a blessing. He reached out to touch the tiny white child's face. She was pristine, as white as freshly fallen snow, practically glowing in the ever-present dim gray light of Darkrealm. Her pale form stretched as she let out a little chirp and took hold of her father's finger in her tiny hand. Her mouth opened wide in a yawn, showing her toothless gums and her long tongue curling before she closed her mouth again and kicked her tiny feet. Tiny staticy purrs came from her as she relaxed. She knew the scent and energy of both her parents. Her claws were dull, and small, the ruff of down over her back and shoulders as soft as a new chick.
"Go on. Hold her." The Enderfemme said. She smiled softly, her voice tired but proud. "I need to sleep; perhaps you can keep her calm for me until I wake..." She carefully held the white child to her father, before she laid her head down and closed her eyes.
He reverently took his daughter. He held her close, cradling her against his chest. The contrast was clear; her, so white she glowed against his chest, as black as the Void itself.
There was great rejoicing. Singing and dancing, old tales told to the younger Endermen by the Elders. Children laughing, growling excitedly, and playing. Their Colony had been blessed with the first White-Skin in many generations.
Some wondered what it meant. There was no trouble; not currently. The Colony; the entire Shadowkin race thrived in their paradise.
Some wondered if she was an omen. Was the White One born because there would be trouble in the future? Perhaps so; perhaps not. But at the moment, there was peace. Future trouble or not, she was a little white beacon of hope and joy shining from the very heart of Darkrealm.
A living legend born among them.
"Darkness. Yellowish white stone beneath our feet. This is Darkrealm. This is home. But now it is our prison. It wasn't always like this. There was a time that the Shadowkin lived in peace and the black sky was filled with sparks of light that looked like the stars in the Overworld's beautiful night sky.
Once... Once, it was peaceful. A long time ago, there was no Dragon. There were no Dragon-Worshippers. We could live out in the open, without fear of being torn apart and hunted down like small animals faced by a great predator.
Someday, that will return! Someday, we WILL get our world back!"