Notes: Hyne, I haven't had much time lately. Good thing this was never meant to be a full chapter. This intermission is meant to mirror the prologue, and for good reason. After this, we hit the next part of the story.

Sorry this is late. Got caught up in classes.

Intermission

"Must you coddle him like that?"

The question earned her husband not only a feigned glare, but a soft chuckle. "You're no better with him. Besides, kindness now will teach him kindness later in his life."

"Oh come on, she's only, what, a year and a half old. I'd hardly think he was old enough to learn from this. But it is time for him to start learning that we aren't going to stay at his side all night while he sleeps."

"The lesson can wait another night," the woman insisted, her voice quiet as she shifted the bundle in her arms that was their first (and only) child. "I've got a few days before I'm expected back at work, so I want one more night to watch over him."

"Fine," the man says, clearly seeing the fondness in his wife's eyes. "Still, if you complain about being tired tomorrow morning, I'm just going to point out it's your own fault. It's your own choice."

"I'm well aware of that, dear. But it seems like just yesterday that we brought him home. Where has the time gone?"

Before her husband could respond, the woman's attention was drawn to the child in her arms. Something had awoken him, and he was starting to cry. She could barely hear her husband sigh behind the sound, but most of her attention was on rocking the child in her arms and cooing softly into his ears. With an apologetic look at her husband, the woman rose from her seat, gestured towards the nursery with her head, and started to bounce the child in her arms as she made for the room.

"I can handle this," her husband starts to say. "You look like you could use a break..."

"That's quite alright. I would love a cup of coffee though."

"Coming right up."

With that the woman was left on her own to stroll to the nursery, still cooing at the child. Once she made it to the room, she toed the door open, slid through the gap she was given, and closed the door behind her with her foot. The cooing turned to something that was half a hum, half a wordless little tune as she danced the crying child around the room until the tears were gone and he was laughing and smiling and quite happy. Then she moved and lowered the child into the crib, pulling a chair up behind her so she could sit by the bed.

Her husband showed up for a moment, coffee in hand, then backed out when she thanked him, off to finish some little bit of work or other as she got the child to sleep. Left alone the woman turned her attention back to the child, cleared her throat, and started into the same bedtime story she'd been telling the child every night of his life that she could.

Once upon a time our world was ruled by a great and gentle god named Hyne. But the world then was not what the world is today. It was barren, dead, devoid of anything but rock. So Hyne, seeing the lack before him, was unhappy. With his great power he formed the sky and the seas. He made plants and animals, and day and night, and life and death, and beauty. The world he made was pure and wild, and he was growing weary. No longer did he have the strength to continue to create, to gift all of the things he had made with wisdom and magic and emotions. So great was his weariness that he knew he must rest. But he could not leave his world without some to tend to it. And so he made his greatest creation: a living, thinking, caring creature called a human.

But the creation was too draining after everything else. Hyne told his people that he was leaving the world he had made in their hands, and would return once he had rested. So he gave to them the world and retreated to a place meant only for him so that he could sleep. And so he did, for many hundreds of years, and in that time the humans grew smarter, stronger, and more widespread.

When Hyne woke from his nap and went to go among his world, he was met quickly by the people he had left in the world. But they did not know him, and they feared him as they had come to fear other humans. They feared each other because their skin was different, or they spoke with different voices, or they did not look the same. And they feared Hyne, and did not know him, and they attacked him. And Hyne did not know what to do.

The people started to make hurtful stories, that he was a monster which killed their children, that he kidnapped them and hurt them. And so they turned upon their creator, and strove to hurt him. They went to war, a thing Hyne had never imagined, against their God. Hyne, though, would not turn a hand against his people, no matter what he did. But the other creatures of the world, the plants and animals, saw how humans had turned against their creator, and turned against the people. The people called it magic, blamed Hyne, and fought all the harder.

So great was the sorrow Hyne felt when he saw the beautiful creatures he created turning against his people, and in his sorry he tried to make peace with the people. They demanded of him that they have half of his great magical power, something he had always meant the people to have, and he gifted it to the world. Yet the people did not understand that the magic had always been meant for the world, and when he let it free it dispersed, spreading into the world. But it wasn't enough for most humans to reach for that magic of their own accord, and so the people accused him of cheating them.

Disappointed in his children, Hyne left the world to them, withdrawing once more into the place he had prepared for himself. And after that the wars began. People thought there was some power left behind by the god, some half of his power, and they warred over it, claiming they had found the flesh of the god and within it was the secret to his power. The peoples fought each other now, until at last the Zebalgans came out on top. Their king sought for a wise man to tell him the secret of the body of Hyne, and so came Vascaroon.

Vascaroon, unknown to the king, was the last of his kind, a priest of Hyne of a people that had been ravaged by the war. In a dream the god had come to him and given him visions of what would come to pass if the priest did not act as he was bid by the god. So he traveled the great distance to the king and spoke at the god bid him. He told the king that there was no power in the body for it was corrupt and could not be claimed by men. He also promised that one day the great magic of the god would become that of the people, though. The Zebalgans must search for the true body of the god, but it would only open to them when Vascaroon's son would come to the people.

With that the priest left, returning to his own people. And he passed to them the story of his own people, so they would know the role they would one day fill.

When the story was done the woman rose and frowned down at her child. Why did the burden have to fall upon her child?

"It is a cruel thing our ancestors ask of you, my dear, sweet Nida. A cruel thing indeed," she whispered, pulling away from the crib and heading for the door. Better to join her husband now before he wondered why she was gone so long.