Goblet | A Day Carved from Rising Winds

That was a barren age of old, a past when gentle spring winds had yet to melt ice and snow.

Cups of azure had never held sweet wine; naught but bitter songs flowed from mortal lips.

The taciturn archer loosed the last arrow at the tyrant, lifeblood piercing the unyielding wind-wall.

The chorus of defiance swelled, and the breeze surged into a tempestuous tide, striking deep into the heart of the lone king.

Thus should have ended the rebellion of mortals against gods, for the Lord of the Storm was cast down from his high tower.

Yet, before the heroes breaking free from their bonds could mourn their fallen comrades,

a wild storm gathered, fraught with malice to engulf all who were granted a new life.

That was the final lament of the tyrant — forsaken by all, his delusions unmade — amidst the wreckage of his throne.

Even the frailest of gods, clinging to resentments as their twilight nears, can topple the mightiest strongholds wrought by mortal hands.

Let alone the God King himself, whose might could sever the frozen sky, cleave mountains asunder with winds of wrath, and fell drakes with a single arrow.

Those who had poured every ounce of their strength into the strife of godslaying could now no longer stay the unforeseen woe.

The hope newly kindled upon the ruins seemed destined to be devoured by the wrathful storm, ushering in utter desolation.

At the very instant when the roar of annihilation was about to strike, what came into view of the sprite, the knight, and all beneath the tower...

...was the boy, frail of form and unskilled in war. He strode into the raging wind while his fingers danced upon the strings of his lyre.

Never has any song revealed the hidden secret of that hour, nor has any poem probed its very truth.

The wind, which had teeth to rend the very bones of the earth, fell abruptly silent. It was a miracle that later devotees would call divine.

None but the exalted God of Songs knows the words inscribed before the dawn...