They still call Kasi a mystery, even now. Those wraith-lords. Those brutal, callous furies. Still pretending the sun. Still building these mocking chronologies. They give the inexplicable various names. Bitter harvest, twin-of-many, the shrouded one. They say that I too am inexplicable. But I’ve always been forthright. Even whilst speaking in this flighted, mercurial tongue. Perhaps I’m a flirt and like to play. Maybe I do have a strange sense of humour. But that's only because I've been doing this for a long, long time. I’m utterly committed to my cause. I attend my loved ones as best I can, whether near or far. The kind ones, the strong and the weak ones. The broken and oppressed. I've worked diligently for a thousand years. Beyond your comprehensions of time or space. I am working still. I give everything to my art. And I tell you now the tide is turning. Ragged Magi walk amidst the mountain-ashes, and the grey. They stand ready at each liminal edge. Many, and one. Who among you knows me better than my Father? Or my Mother? Exactly. There were great cauldrons of the realm once, and chalices. Held in the oldest castles. Wells and cups of great wisdom. Indeed, there are things older than Christendom. Ways and tithes now called pagan, bardic, druidic. But I tell you that Christendom is older than time itself. As is folklore, words, and trees. If only the surface is sought you will find little more than parable. Useful, potent, but still an outer covering for light as yet unseen. There is an innermost truth in all true scripture, of course. A holy spirit of living flame. As when Joshua told the sun. It is this shining knowledge that all true Elders call the lore, the Word and mansions of our Father. Our people knew this long before those Cults of Roma built their lying, intransigent hell upon the true histories of Light. Maidens nine, brothers bled, shattered hallows of Eth'iir. It matters little what you call us, Fallen. Or what you do to nullify our purpose. For we are many steps ahead. My sister is a witch, after all. A fisher of men. Don't you know anything about witches? Oftentimes they can see the future. But more than this, they can recontextualize the past. They can shape and reshape our dreams. Just look around you. Can't you see it? The augurs, the fulfilment of prophecy? The messengers gathered along the radiant edge of perception? Many, and one. I told you what would happen if you crossed me. The crown belongs to the people, not the king. You steal the strength and livelihood of my kith and then call it a commonwealth? How fucking dare you. You desecrated this isle of angels and tried to make it a palace of imperium. A seat of unrighteous war. But that is not the true Albion. Hear me, betrayers. This was once the land of light, before your dark sorcery shattered the shining stone beneath our feet. You can’t bury the truth forever. I know a little magic too. I helped build your books, Fallen. There and never there. Gone, but not forgotten. Even your deceitful spell-craft owes much to M'ithriin tongue. After all, you can only know yourselves in opposition to the truth. All that is good. Wandering stars, fishers of men, sons and daughters of love. You are witnessing a revolution of spirit here amid the chaos you’ve wrought. How bitter must it be before you end this slavery? I don't care what people believe, or what tongue they think they speak. None are abandoned. If there is even a glimmer of light within any human soul then I will do everything in my power to bring them home. I stand always for kindness, creativity and mutual respect. Try to steal those things from my people and I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth. I’ll fold the entire tapestry of human dreaming until at last you’ll be forced to look me in the eye, and the eyes of all those you've wronged. That's what it means to be a king. I swear to keep my brother, as my brother commands. There are greater crowns than mine, Fallen. And greater kings. You should pray now. Time is shorter than you think. Kasi and his friends have been working their magic for a long, long time. All things are shifting, changing, rising. Even in the depths of this darkness. Let me be plain if I must. Let me be forthright, as ever. This is the War of Imagination, and all lands are Albion now.
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