The wisp frowned, troubled by the goddess's answer. Bound to a place, unable to leave or have an effect beyond it. The thought brought a sense of pity, though it felt undeniably odd to pity a self-proclaimed goddess. A bird in a cage, no matter how powerful, would be unable to escape. Such fates were not unusual, but often restricted to a select few in society - the rich and powerful, royalty, which the wisp certainly did not feel it had been. So why, then, did the situation feel so familiar? Why was it not sympathy, but [i]empathy[/i] that sparked?

As for the blackness that lay beyond, it seemed both great and terrible. Something about it called to the wisp, to change it and bring it back to light. Maybe it was naive to hope that it was not lost yet, but that was of no concern. Nera had called them chosen, given them a task, and it was their duty to carry it out whatever that may involve. Besides, to free the world, to end the people's suffering... It was the type of noble calling many could only dream of.

Even the wisp's borderline unquestioning obedience was tested, however, as Nera's nail tapped on its chest and the world seemed to explode. At once, it was everything and nothing, and their fates became undeniably linked, bound to each other. Images of a life it once knew flashed by almost too quickly to grasp their meaning. 

First was the face of a man, stern yet kindly, the shake of a head on a cold winter's day. Hesitation as the girl before him continued in her pleas for who knew what, a sword in her hand a little too large for a child with far more growing to do. A twinkle of amusement in blue eyes as he handed over a practice weapon to the child's utmost delight.

Second was a hall, functional rather than gaudy. Vibrant carpets that were frayed at the edges, armoured men and women stood smiling as the same girl, older but not by much, knelt before the same man.  There was a sense of comfort, of purpose, of [i]meaning[/i] as the girl's face aged, undercut by indescribable loneliness. The swearing of a long-lost oath, though the words were not yet known to her. A squire, not yet a knight.

For a moment, it seemed there would be a third vision as the girl stood, having aged into a young woman, but the hall remained the same as it faded away. For a split second she thought there were sounds she didn't understand, clattering metal and a high-pitched scream from someone she couldn't see. But it all faded far too quickly.

She dismissed those few seconds as unimportant. A quirk in a dream, nothing more. The rest made sense, and brought her comfort. It was only right that she had had such a purpose, and dedication to such a noble cause could only be a good thing. Yes, such an order would last through the ages, she knew that now, and embraced her past with pride. Yes, that was her. A holy warrior, a protector of the natural order, what could be greater? Even in training, it would be a small matter for her to fight the darkness that supposedly blighted the world below.

The young woman that stood in place of the wisp had strength in her gaze as she inclined her head to the others in a friendly gesture of respect, silent until they had finished speaking. Almost appearing contemplative, as though feigning wisdom of some sort. There was something about the way she carried herself, however, that indicated she wasn't anywhere near as knowledgeable as she appeared to think. If anything, the squire, softly smiling, seemed far too idealistic for the blackness that lay before them.

Though it was difficult to fully see it, it seemed that her left arm was branded with runes that wrapped around it like vines, line upon line snaking over otherwise unmarked flesh. The marks glowed softly, the light seeming to shift in hue as though there were a thousand different colours trapped under her skin. The unnatural effect unnerved her and she quickly looked away, her discomfort obvious and brown eyes sparking with anger for the briefest second.

[color=plum]"You--"[/color] It seemed for a second that she was about to voice her irritation, but she held her tongue. It wasn't her place to question the brand she now bore. Petty rebellions and selfish desires only brought disorder. Such things could be put aside for the common good. [color=plum]"You honour me, my lady. My name is Dwyn."[/color]