Suryngaian history is eventful. Nonetheless, the Suryngaians have the record of most of their kind dating as far back as those who knew the guardian of the Goddess when he was a child. That is where it all started....

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Four moons, one golden, another silver, a third red, the last blue, hung over Athos in the shimmering night sky. The weather was balmy for its inhabitants in the capital of the world, Melingi. Beautiful ivory walls, studded with faerie gems similar to diamonds but far more superior, seemed to reach the purpling skies, the moons, the skies' guardians. There were walkways far above the base of the four spires that connected together, linking to each of them and the four inner, smaller pillars, adorned in pale opalescent gems and carved with intricate runes as decoration, the city's inhabitants bustled about leisurely. The summer night was perfect, and the scent of rich spices, perfumes, cooking, and more wafted up to the heavens, tempting the gods to visit that night to see how their children were doing. Their children were the Suryngaian Fae, beautiful, pointy-eared, butterfly-winged humanoids slender of build in most cases, in others, stocky as human warriors. Children freely flew in the sky, their mothers racing after them and the fathers chuckling over how similar they were to themselves when they were their age. Merchants in stands showed off their various wares; tonight was a special night, and therefore only the best was to be sold- although their wares were always top quality, as it was of Suryngaian make.

The center of Melingi was bustling, however the center was carefully avoided, as there was a circle carved into the amethyst street, rubbed gold powder in the grooves. The sigil to the God Amana and the Goddess Aetherea, the sigil blessed by Melingi's elder priest and priestess. Tonight it glowed, as did the four full moons. The glowing was considered a great omen that it was the 40th year, and every 40 the almighty ones paid visit to their land- why, no one on Athos was sure, because they could survey Athos from their spiritly world, supposing they had one. Everyone here walked carefully around the sigil, but tonight there was a new rumor going about. Now the Suryngai rarely gossiped, but it wasn't avoidable. They had a weak and dying Fae, one with three pairs of wings- two large, the middle ones angling between the third, thinner pair, deformed. To make matters worse, the Fae was only 13. No one could understand why he was so weakly- their bloodline was strong, rich in immortality, how could the Fae be dying so fast? What was hurting him? Another issue arose between a small group of Suryngaians; three women and a male merchant who was selling them spice in between conversation- the Fae had no one to look after him. He refused to talk about his family or what region he had come from. He had arrived, bleeding silvery ichor, into the city when he was 5, and he was taken in by local scribes. He was helped, and learned much of their ways, but he seemed disinterested in it all, although the spirit realm topic had always interested him deeply. Then, at 13, a month ago, he had become paler and more gaunt-faced, weaker.

The moons began to glow and there was moonlight as bright as sun falling on Melingi's amethyst streets and faerie-gem houses. The sigil's glow began to pulse. All chatter ceased as the four moons slowly began to follow each other in a circle, then seemed to grow larger and larger and then merge, forming a pillar of swirlng silver, golden, blue and red light between the skies and the amethyst sigil. Two silhouettes appeared inside the pillar of light, one tall and well-built, with the frame of a mighty warrior, the other a shorter, petite and slender figure, both with butterfly wings on their backs. The glowing ceased, and the four moons were seen above in a conglomeration of each other-forming an X shape, all connected at each other's center. The silence that continued was almost choking for some. Not even the babies dared cry, they felt the raw presence that the two figures.

The male bore spiky hair, eyebrows swept upward naturally, long ears pointed and slightly back, like a snarling feline. He wore large pants that seemed like an ancient, foreign style; they billowed from his legs and were gold fabric trimmed with blue runes. He was well built, made for power, and exuded a calm but commanding aura. He was Amana. Glowing blue eyes looked down to the other, smaller silhouette, who had her silvery hair drawn back in a ponytail, the band made of sculpted silver flower petals interwoven with each other. Sparkles and small stars were on her eyelids, her crimson eyes were wide and alert. Her ears were naturally positioned in a curious but relaxed position, and she wore a loincloth of silvery fabric that turned crimson in certain light. She wore anklets with strands of gossamer flying about them. She, Aetherea, looked up to Amana. He nodded. Athos had grown within the past 40 years, even more magnificent than they saw through their orbs when observing the world.

The Priest and Priestess of Melingi made their way through a torch lit path of Melingi officials, stopping at the edge of the sigil where the god and goddess were. They were both elder fae, some of the oldest around, but being immortal, age had little meaning aside from physical appearance. These two's physical aging had stopped when they were 40, the normal age was 28, at the most. The Priestess spoke. "We welcome you back, Almighty ones. Athos is as beautiful as ever." The Priest brought over a bowl of faerie nectar.

Amana smiled, and looked down to Aetherea. Atherea smiled back and accepted the bowl, with both hands. The bowl was finely pounded gold, with inlaid diamonds, rubies and sapphires, each of the four colors corresponding to the four moons. The nectar was as clear as water, yet it tasted of coconut, honey, ambrosia, lotus, and other things. A god's drink. It was very hard to make, thus the Priest and Priestess of Athos knew how to perfect it and obtain the ingredients, and saved it for holy rites such as this one. After she had drunk half the bowl, she offered it to her brother, Amana, who emptied it and offered back the bowl, which was taken and placed safely beside a torch.

All the ill of Athos- for even being immortal, sickness could still catch, although none would die- were brought around the sigil where Amana and Aetherea stood. They were healed, and all praised the gods for their generosity. There was a silence that fell after; the two should have started to make their leave.

"Is something wrong, Almighty Ones?" the Priest asked.

Aetherea had seen the late arrival and was glancing in his direction. It was the weak and dying fae. Its middle pair of three pairs of wings were bent at a bizarre angle; he wore ripped and torn black leather pants, which were connected to boots. There were two pairs of blades extending from the sides of the lower leg part of the pants, and his boots had a silver strap just above the ankle, fastened with a jade gem set in silver. They had silver bottoms, and the toes were silver as well. There was an additional strap of metal going over the middle part of the boots, past the heel and before the soles. He drew a ragged cloak about himself; he was very emaciated-looking. His hands were garbed in long dragonscale gloves, the claws of the creature were strapped to his fingers so his fingertips sat where the beginning of the talon was. His wings, though deformed, were beautiful, with every color in translucent, pearly and sometimes metallic shades. He had done an excellent job of hiding himself from everyone but the gods' notice.

Amana followed Aetherea's gaze, saw the deformed Fae. He let his sister speak. "Welcome," she called. All heads turned surprisedly towards the Fae.

"You are late! How dare you be late to acknowledge the presence of the Almighty-" the Priestess was cut off short by Aetherea.

"It's quite alright, Merinu," the Goddess spoke, without asking the Priestess her name. She dipped her head in reply, embarassed, and fell silent, sending dagger glares at the deformed Fae. Aetherea turned her gaze back to the deformed Fae. "Come here, child," she invited, extending a slender hand. Amana looked concerned for a brief moment before falling to listening again. Aetherea knew what she was doing.

The deformed Fae was hesitant. Despite being one of the most beautiful Fae around, the shadow of Death had grabbed him around the ribs and wouldn't let go, spreading its dying pallor over the creature, making him weaker. He felt torn between fleeing or being pulled forward. His feet made the choice for him: he found himseld kneeling before Aetherea. His voice was rich and almost melodic to hear, yet it held a terrified timber in it. "Yes, my lady?" he asked, nearly tripping over his own tongue.

Aetherea smiled warmly. "No need to call me such." She caught the glances of those who looked surprised, then looked down to the deformed Fae. "Pray tell.. what has caused your wings to become such?" she asked.

The Fae fell silent, casting death glares over his shoulder to his three pairs of wings, all very beautiful, but deformed and useless. He returned his gaze to the Goddess, but never directly looking into her glowing crimson eyes. "Birth," he answered icily.

The crowd broke out in hushed whisper. Birth had caused such a Fae's wings to be deformed? That wasn't possible, fae blood held bodily perfection in its genes. Maybe he lied in front of the Goddess Aetherea and she would know. But what if he was telling the truth? Amana rose a hand, hushing the crowd silently.

Aetherea grazed her hand through his soft, long flowing crimson hair. "I have an offer for you," she said. "But first, what is your name?" she asked.

"Ziristian," he replied hesitantly, voice and body wavering slightly from her voice and touch.

"The offer is this: join me and Amana in Elysium, as our bodyguard and servant, and we will cure you," Aetherea said, knowing there had to be some way to fix his wings.

"Elysium," he murmured. "So it exists? The legends were true?"

She nodded, smiling over to Amana, who returned one to her. "What do you say?" she asked.

The crowd, as well as Ziristian, felt tense. He knew they wanted him out of Melingi. And his only Fae interest was the spirit realm.. His mind worked frantically, forming half-thoughts and ideas. "I accept," he whispered, looking the two directly in the eyes.

Amana nodded. "Excellent. Come into the circle," he commanded, spiky blond hair moving gently in the summer night breeze.

Ziristian rose and walked into the center of the circle, between the two, looking at the crowd, who were mostly shocked. He did not know his own destiny, neither did the gods.

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