Ehtar

"I do not roar like my northern sister, nor rise with the promise of my eastern sister. People fear endings, as if the dusk is something to flee, but endings are what give shape to things. Without them, a story is only a ramble, a road that leads nowhere. I do not bring the night to scare you, child, I bring it to remind you that the day was worth having."

— Ehtar, to a frightened mortal

 

The Beginning of Renewal

  Where his breath stirs, the sun dips low, shadows lengthen, and the sky blushes with the colours of farewell. He is not the sharp gale that uproots trees nor the howling storm that rages at the cliffs, but the steady, inevitable breeze that whispers, it is time.   He appears as a figure draped in twilight hues, his cloak shifting with the colours of dusk; deep indigo, burnt orange, and the soft silver of fading light. His hair moves as though caught in a perpetual zephyr, and his eyes hold the stillness of the hour just before nightfall. The Waning's voice is low and measured, like the sight of wind through reeds, filled with an odd comfort that promises endings are not to be feared but embraced.  

The End of the Beginning

  The Waning moves at the edges of things: the edge of day, the border between the known and the forgotten, the last chapter of a story. He is not a god of destruction but of transition, guiding the world from one state to the next. Farmers look to him at harvest time, sailors feel his presence in the evening breeze that brings them to safe harbours, and mourners claim his touch when the last breath escapes a loved one.   He has no temples, only open fields and windswept cliffs where his whispers carry the weight of closure. His followers are often wanderers and storytellers, those who understand that every path must end, every tale must have its last word.   To meet the Waning is to stand at the threshold of change. He will not push you through, nor hold you back, he merely opens the door and waits, the west wind at his back, urging you gently onward.