Disclaimer: I own nothing in the SGA universe. Not the characters, the toys, the made-up galaxy. All I own is this storyline. Sad.

Prologue

The sun shone brilliantly that day – a glowing gem of the brightest yellow in a sky softly streaked with the purest white clouds. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and spread the softest scents of exotic flowers throughout the small village.

It had started in the foothills of the Nundari Mountains - a frozen gust of air that had fallen from the peaks to settle for a time in the valleys below. The sun had warmed it, the quiet had softened it, and the tranquil haunts of small animals and lush vegetation tempered its violent nature. It slowly wound its way through pastures and rows of crops with no more than a soft rustle of corn leaves or a gentle push at a sedentary cow. Soon it reached the outskirts of the quaint village where the largest homes lay, ready for mischief and play.

But it found no one. The homes were empty, all of them with nary a soul in sight of even the last one, the one closest to the market. It swept through open windows, fluttering lace curtains, ruffling the petals of the flowers adorning every front door. Still, there was no one.

It carried on towards the center of the village, first the market then towards the village circle. It swept through quiets streets, the outlying stores showing no promise or hope. Each storefront had been swept clean, and in retribution, the wind took great delight in blowing a smattering of dust on each and every one.

A flash of pink disappeared around a corner. Just the faintest, the quickest of flashes but this wind was quicker, blowing towards the bend, around it and up onto the skirt the pink was attached to. It ruffled the skirt and flattened the back of the blouse. It blew up into wispy blonde curls until they flew forward into the bright green eyes of the young girl they belonged to. The wind stole the lively tune she'd been humming and carried it away to be sung for someone else.

"Oh!" and she let out a delighted laugh as the wind sped away, off to find another soul for more mischief.

The girl quickly shook her head to set her hair back in place and rearranged her skirts about her legs, then changed her mind and picked up her skirt in both hands as she quickened her pace. She was late as it was, and her mother would listen to no excuses this time. Missing the Ceremony was unheard of in her mother's household and tardiness greatly frowned upon. And yet, she couldn't help but stay back a few extra moments when the streets were all empty and everything was quiet and still. She could just stand in the once-bustling market outside her mother's craft shop and for once see no clouds of dust flying about or see her precious flowers being crushed underfoot by careless children. Everything was perfect on this day and sometimes she wished these moments would last forever.

"Lyria!" a sharp voice called out from amongst the crowd in the village circle. She could make out the altar atop the podium in the middle but the priest and priestess were nowhere to be seen. The Ceremony hadn't begun yet.

"Where have you been, child? The Ceremony is about to begin and I've left your younger brothers alone to come search for you, when you should be the one to have more sense." A small, plump woman appeared out from between two taller men, grasped her gently by the arm, and tugged her into the fold of people. "Every year you disappear and every year I have to come looking for you. Every year I leave your brothers alone with your father and every year one of them gets lost until nightfall." She quickly and efficiently made her way through the press of the crowd. She applied a gentle nudge on a child, a more insistent push on the village blacksmith and a quick smile to soften that blow. "Creation knows I love that man, but how he spends so much time in his head and so little watching for their mischief is beyond even me sometimes."

Lyria allowed a small smile to grace her lips and swallowed a giggle at her mother's words. This was her way. Always quick, always efficient, never mean-hearted, but always determined to get her way.

They made one final push and reached the front steps of the temple where her father stood waiting with three of her four brothers sitting by his feet. Lyria's mother threw up her hands and her father shrugged his shoulders in amused defeat. Her mother, mouth open, finger pointed, was ready to launch into another tirade when the clap of bells rang forth from behind the temple doors.

"Sshhhh. It's starting." Lyria let out in an excited whisper.

The great stone doors of the temple slowly eased open and Lyria bent as far forward as she could to try and get a glimpse inside. The clap, clap, clap of bells grew louder and clearer, until at last two feet stepped over the threshold and into the light of the sun.

The light dazzled as it glinted off the pure white robes of the priest and priestess, spreading past their feet and continuing forward, up over the delicately braided gold ropes that signified their Order. Hers swiftly coiled about her waist, his hung across his chest from one shoulder to the other. Their hoods were pulled up and their heads bowed down as they made their way down each step, each footfall timed perfectly with the chiming of the bells, each step taken in perfect unison.

They walked purposefully through the crowd as it parted before them, moving towards the altar in the center of the circle, in the middle of the crowd of people. They glided up the steps leading to the top of the platform. They rose above the crowd so they could be easily seen and easily heard, and there they stood, one facing north and the other south. Here they raised their heads and pulled down their hoods. Here they raised their arms. Here the bells, the chatter, the whispers; here it all stopped.

Nobody bowed or genuflected or averted their eyes. These were simply people. They were not the Worshipped. There were the Voices to be spoken together, point and counterpoint – the male and the female, the high and the low. The balance personified in them, in this ceremony, as it was in all things.

"We are here on this most holy of days, the Day of Creation." they spoke together, their voices carried by the wind. That mischievous, playful wind now tamed by the importance of this day, the weight of its meaning. It carried their voices to the farthest person to be heard as loud and clear as by those nearest.

"We are here to rejoice and to celebrate. To mourn those lost this year past and to pray for new life. We are here to remember." The Voices paused, allowing their audience to think and to recall, to fully understand.

This was it. This was the part Lyria eagerly awaited every year from the end of each Ceremony to the beginning of the next.

Now the Voices moved in unison towards the altar facing east. The sun cast its warm glow on their faces. Basking the podium, the gathered crowd, the village, in its warmth and light. He placed his right hand upon the stone tablet on the altar, she her left, and they looked out towards the excited, expectant faces of their people. Long ago they had sworn their oaths, pledging their lives to the Gods, and ultimately, to the people. They had sworn a solemn vow to protect this timeless custom so that the deeds of the Gods and of their ancestors would never be forgotten.

"This is your story. This is my story. This is our story. The story of how we came to pass here on this protected land, safe in the warm embrace of the Sen'dae. This is how true life began."