Clan Lavellan, deep within the forests surrounding the city of Ventus, Tevinter Imperium, 9:18 Dragon
The veiled moon watched from above that night, a silent witness to a pact forged between fear and hope.
The forest rustled its leaves, indifferent to fate and to the icy cold that ruled the air.
A lone cricket attempted a song, but no other joined. So it fell silent, letting the strange stillness settle, awaiting the next act.
Few understood that fate is a tapestry woven by one's own hands...
- Take her! - cried an elf with hazel eyes, trembling as she offered her newborn daughter as if ripping out her own heart.
- Please, I beg you! Take her. Save her. Save her…
Deshanna, a young mage of the clan, had been named Keeper only a year ago, after the tragic death of their hahren.
Perhaps that was why she didn't hesitate. She took the child without a word, with the arms of someone who understands the sacred and dreads solitude.
- I carried this child in my womb for nine moons and loved her with every tear of my nights. But I have no right to keep her. I am a slave. My body is ash. My name offers no future.
Deshanna heard her, but did not respond. Still, something warm stirred in her chest as she looked at the chubby baby with rosy cheeks.
- You must hide her from the gods.
"The gods?"
Deshanna lifted her gaze, startled, and her grey eyes locked on the desperate woman.
Which gods did she fear? Her own, the ancient ones, the First of the People? Or the Maker of the shemlen?
For Deshanna, Keeper of Clan Lavellan, the gods were no threat. They were guides.
Old voices whispering from the roots, from the wind, from memory. Her people were guardians of ancient knowledge, of traditions carved into bark and time.
And tonight, she had found a successor. Someone to whom she could entrust that treasured legacy.
That child was more than a newborn.
She was a legacy.
A fragment of what must never be forgotten. A flame pulled from abandonment to bear witness to all that had been… and all that would be again.
- I know I have no right to ask anything… but…
- Ask what you will, woman...- whispered the young Dalish elf with compassion. - It's the least I can offer.
The slave searched through a worn pocket and drew out a strip of dried leather, tying it gently around the infant's neck, her tears threatening to shatter her.
- Her name is Elentari. Give her the life I never could. Let her feel loved, so loved, just as we cherished her even before her birth.
- Elentari…
- Enleathenera - the slave said, voice resolute.
The Keeper fell silent, shaken to hear such graceful elvhen roll off the tongue of a slave.
She fastened the collar, and without another word, the woman turned and ran into the depths of the forest, as if chased by a horde of demons.
She did not look back.
But Deshanna noticed the woman had left a small, worn pouch on the ground. She picked it up and found inside a moonstone, soft and pale as the night surrounding them.
Deshanna knew, without words, that this was no mere adornment:
It was a vow.
A shield.
A sacred bond.
So she cradled the newborn beneath her cloak and whispered the name given: Elentari. Queen of the Stars.
The child had been born anew, severing the bond with the mother who had let her go, and embracing the gentle guidance of the moon.
- This stone holds the fate you'll face, my child. I will teach you to listen, to wait… You will carry the forest with you, and never be alone again, Elentari.
She did not know, then, what that name would carry.
That the girl would become the echo of an ancient tragedy.
A spark ignited in the ruins of a broken world.
That she would make the very foundations of Thedas tremble, unearthing truths long buried beneath stone and beyond the Fade.
That her mere existence would summon lost gods and ghosts of time, demanding blood… and fire… as payment.
That she would be claimed by both the Protector and the Wolf.
That her soul would burn between devotion and betrayal.
That her name, born of the stars… would also be her doom.
Because one day, Elentari would have to choose.
And when that day comes, the world will carve her judgment into stone.
And only one name will survive history.
Only one.