The Myth in Full
In the plane of cliffs, on the very northern edges of the Seas of Sand, was a wanderer named Lirian. Lirian was a weaver of tales and stories, and an orator of myth. Her stories stirred hearts and brought people to wonder. But Lirian was unsettles by a question of her own; can one truly choose their own path? Or does the Veil decide destiny?
And so, Lirian ventured south, to the border of the lands of Shaelarae and Qenaarae, and to a shrine of Fea, where a stone tree carved in the facets of crystal stood. That night, as cometlight brightened the sands, the spirit of Fea approached her. The spirit-oracle beseeched Lirian, troubled by her mind. "Lirian, you must venture into my children's sands. Follow the comets you see, they will guide you to the Maw of the Veil, where you may see the cloth of your existence. But know this: its truth may bind or break you."
Undaunted, Lirian ventured into the shifting dunes, where mirages and sandstorms, and her own mind would fight against her journey. First came a mirage of a grand city in the sands, one that promised ease and glory, the city of Teremae. Lirian shook her head, saying "Comfort is no choice. My story is not one of ease." Next, a sandstorm roared, whispering doubts that her path was futile. She pressed on, saying "Doubt is not a guide, but an enemy of my own conviction." Finally, her mind played tricks on her, and she saw her loved ones, lost to time, begging her to turn back. She trudged onward and past them, saying "Memory is not my chain."
Finally, after many years of travel, Lirian saw the comet she followed plunge into the horizon. She came upon a great crevasse in the earth, where the sands split, and where walls of mythral gave way to a pool of azure light. Steadily waving, the Veil itself store back at her, a web of shimmering threads as thick as infinity. Some threads were dull, and some were bright. Some would lead to joy, or sorrow, and some would fade into shadow, unmarked by fate or destiny. A voice, a soft sigh, rose from the well: "Your life, Lirian, behold. Your threads are spun, but you must choose each and every one. Will you weave, or be woven?"
Lirian saw paths wehre she ruled empires, others where she wandered alone, never to tell another story, not even her own, and others still where she fell to ruin. The weight of the choice was heavy — each thread was as risk, each a surrender of other possibilities. She smiled and said "I choose to weave, though the pattern is unknown. To choose is to live."
The Maw closed to her, and the dunes covered the Veil once again.
She returned to the north, to her planes of cliffs, and to her life of telling stories, and now listeners felt their own paths stir within them. Fate offered her threads, and the hand that weaves is her own.
