Gates of Hell, torn asunder
Fertile lands, smothered with water
Buildings burn under a leaden sky.
Smoke comes as we sleep
So peaceful,
Unaware.
Hope dims, receding into the distance.

We gave the opal child to the flames,
The rider was swamped by a storm of our making,
Only the cloaked Ranger remains,
Hidden from our sight,
Shrouded in mystery.
We prepare for the end
Yet are kept
Waiting

The final Dream of Ben-Leret (transcribed after his death; author unknown)

There are all too few of the true people left now and it seems evermore likely that the extermination spoken of in the Prophecy will truly come to pass. I have few enough days left anyway, already I feel the Dream call with increased urgency, shrill and harsh in my mind. Soon now the burden of life will pass from me and the concerns of Man will be mine no more. Before I depart this world there are still things I need to say, especially to you my beloved. Others will see this Dream I know yet still I must unburden myself. You are so young, too young to be swamped in these heavy matters, so I will whisper to you whilst you sleep. I will hide these words in your Dreams so that one day, when the time comes, you will hear them and the ancient knowledge will not be lost. Listen carefully, my little one, for I have only strength enough to say this once, you will know by now what that means. Before I begin I wish to tell you of my love for you and for your mother; my biggest regret is that I will not live to see you grow to womanhood. Still, the Dream comes for us all at different times, in different places; it is my dearest hope that I will see you again someday, far beyond these shores.

Now I will tell you of the history of your people, of the secrets I have carried all these years which now must be shared. There is so much to be told yet I have little time and less strength so I will be brief. You must ask your Mother for the rest; she knows more than any of us will ever realise. You will, I am sure, have heard the old tales time and time again, it is one of those tales that concerns us today. Once, long ago, when the world was young, a girl child was born in the Winter. Such a thing had never happened before and, to the knowledge of the tellers, has never happened since. She was born in the mountains south of the Opal Lake and, as is sometimes the case, her mother departed, screaming, from this life shortly afterwards. This was a source of great sorrow to the girl's father for they were tai-larn, handfasted in the old way. He took the child, wrapped her in a blanket and sat by the fire, waiting for the path to clear. It became to clear to him that there was nothing ot be gained by fleeing into the Dream in search of his love and abandoning his daughter to the winds of fate. Thus he stayed and raised his daughter as best he could. He named her Kyriet, which means tear in the old tongue, and she was most precious to him.

From the beginning, Kyriet had one foot in the Dream and she was marked by it as one who does not sit confortably upon the Earth. This led to fear and derision for, in the main, true talent is never recognised in its own time. Thus, much of her childhood was spent alone, reaching into the Dream for solace and knowledge. It was not until later that the Dream began to reach into her soul. This manifested itself as terrible visions of fire and death that terrified the child. All too soon the visions began to manifest themselves in reality and, when fire and death came to her people she was shunned and reviled. Eventually she was hunted down by her own community and burnt as a witch to the despair and grief of her father. For how terrible is the fate of one who outlives both lover and child.

Some of this story you may have heard in whispers, passed down through the generations by those who do not wish to forget. However, there will be things that you do not yet know, things that few in this land comprehend. Kyriet was the opal child of the prophecy and, with her death, we lost our first chance to avoid the whirlwind that is coming. This too, you will not know, Kyriet managed to evade the hunters long enough to give birth to a baby boy; it is not known who fathered the child. She named the boy Ben-Leret, little fawn, and left him in the keeping of his grandfather. Thus, the blood of the opal child runs also through your veins my daughter. I too, had a part to play in the end of days for I believe I am, was, the rider mentioned in the prophecy. In that, I have failed the world; through my own arrogance and blindness I may have condemned us all. My story I shall tell to you, in snatches, as you sleep, for it is too long and too complex to tell in one dream and I have no wish to break your mind that way.

I must leave you now, my time grows short and there are things that must be done before it is finished. However, I give you this warning; upon you lies the burden of saving us all. You must find the ranger and aid him in anyway that you can. The opal child is dead, I feel the storm at my back and if the ranger falls then so do we all. Travel to Nathar itself, it may be that there you will find people who can aid you in the quest but hurry, time grows short and I feel the end upon us. My love goes with you daughter, I only regret that I was not a better father; you too I have failed in all the ways that matter. I hope, in time, you may learn to forgive me for what I have done but I fear it may be too late for that.