Some time passed since the cataclysm, a little over a year. Within the light of the crystals the people relaxed, ignoring the menacing changes of the world around them. At first, no one noticed the changes at all. They had been so busy rebuilding that there was next to no travel, no one daring to leave the safe havens for long. They did notice, however, that the few who did leave their city returned quickly, claiming sickness had forced them to turn back. Outside the safe havens the world did look sick – the ground grew less and less fertile, the sun more bleak and unforgiving, the water less clear and sweet, the animals outside grew more scarce, monsters cropped up everywhere, and even the air seemed to have an odd haze. Over the course of that year, those changes grew more severe.

The Clavats of the Fum Plain were the first to feel the corruption's sting. Being a sprawling network of small villages and vast farms that shared many smaller crystals, it wasn't uncommon for communication to take some time. However, one of the smaller outlying farms had been unresponsive for weeks, and the central town sent a team to investigate. The farther from the crystals the investigators got, the more uneasy they felt. Near the boundary mark of the silent farm, they felt an odd prickle on their skin.

All around was that odd haze in the air.

A few yards down the road, two bodies lay shriveled in the oddly swirling air. What was left of their skin was a horrible mess – the investigators knew of no weapon or beast that could flay a person to such a state. It was partly like the work of voracious, swarming insects, but also like the burn a fierce fire would leave, and a little like the scourging given by a desert storm. A little ways behind the wagon was left to rot, the grisly remains of the papaopamus still tethered in. Four bodies were inside, one driving. They were in knotted, curling positions, ruined hands clutching at their throats. The two in front had clearly abandoned the vehicle, attempting to run – from what?

The prickle on their skin was back, and stronger.

One of the investigators began to cough, followed by another. The prickle was getting worse, turning into an itch, a burn, like something clawing at them from the outside, and every breath was like inhaling shattered glass.

The group turned and ran like hell with every breath they had left.

The outer farms that still stood were evacuated, all the people of Fum gathering towards whatever crystal was closest. They were the first to feel the sting of the corruption, but the other havens were soon to follow.

The period of grace was over.

The crystals were dying.

Their only choice was to send out expeditions, armed with smaller chunks of crystal, to find a cure while there was still time.

One group, hoping to reclaim answers from their ancestral Shellan home, found a strange, wondrous site in the wreckage of Old Shella: a mysterious glowing tree. Like a crystal, the tree had an aura of light and purity that warded off the vicious miasma that plagued their world. To their amazement, the tree grew brighter as their small crystal approached it. When one explorer tentatively brought the gem beneath the gently swaying fronds, what appeared to be a dewdrop of pure light fell from the glowing branches, splashing onto the crystal, which immediately seemed brighter and more full of life than it ever had been.

A new cycle of a sort had been born. Memories formed and were lost – but some never quite faded away, instead becoming seeds of life.

Far from those nervous first steps of a newborn civilization, a group of four gathered below what was once a mountain, carrying all the untainted crystal shards they had managed to protect.

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The golden light woke her, but when Aurantha opened her eyes there was nothing of light to be found.

It was a hell like she had never before seen, terrible and ugly, yet strangely beautiful in its twisted majesty. As horrible as the landscape had been months ago when the meteor first struck, it had been transformed into something that no longer even resembled the world she knew. The fire and fury of the meteor's landing had been replaced with a quiet chill that sucked away sound and light and life. The bleeding brown and black colors of the once green mountain had turned into a gray, dusty terrain, lined with deep cracks and ravines that stretched into the heart of the earth, and walled with tall spikes of jutting bedrock exposed from the impact.

There was a wind – she could feel it on her exposed face – but the air was unnaturally still. She was outside, yet the air was stale and dead.

She was alone, yet she could feel prying eyes from every angle.

It was silent, yet she could feel the world screaming, just beyond her range of hearing.

The air was hazy, thick, and deadly, yet she could see every detail of the ruined world in perfect, terrible clarity.

For a moment, or an eternity, it remained like that. Still and silent, the world was little more than a painting, depicting a scene that did not live or change with time. She could not tell if she was part of that scene or merely an observer.

"He is still weak. We have to work while he is still weak from his birth. We can't…"

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was mildly surprised to hear her own voice. She did not recall thinking the words that had emerged from her throat, or feel them form on her tongue.

She did not recall having anyone to speak with in the first place.

The painting shifted – or was it her own head that turned to glance behind? – and three figures stood before her.

They looked at her expectantly, but she stood still, and did not speak again for some time.

"I don't…" one spoke, the taller man. "This isn't…but…why…?"

The man turned to his side, and Aurantha noticed the woman sitting, seemingly relaxed – no, not relaxed, exhausted. Her usually icy eyes were wide, but not out of alertness – they were the eyes of a lost child, confused and bewildered.

For a moment, Aurantha was startled out of her stupor by the realization that there was no fight left in the Selkie woman. She had never seen her let her guard down – had she ever seen her before at all? Yes, of course she had – yet this was wrong, all wrong…

"It has to go here. I know that," Aurantha spoke, her voice urgent for reasons that she couldn't quite recall.

Know what?

She should have been startled, but somehow, that expression of life and emotion was also taken from her, replaced by a slower, muted fear that gnawed at her from within. The voice was deep and resonant, and seemed to come from the heart of the black pit that gaped in the distance. Or, perhaps, it came from within her – she felt so hollow, perhaps that voice was resonating inside her empty shells? Nothing else felt as real as the dark words that washed over and inside her.

Why was she so exposed, so fragile? Where was her face, her shield, her strength? She should be stronger, she knew that. She should not feel naked and alone…

"I know…that we have a purpose here. I know your voice," Aurantha said slowly, no longer anxious but merely confused. The landscape became darker. "It was all so clear…"

"It all feels so familiar," the tall man agreed, his eyes closed and his face scrunched like he was trying to remember a dream. Around them, the terrain began to grow blurry, as if there was no way to focus their eyes. "This feeling, as if…"

"As if it IS familiar," the Lilty man added, as the darkness swirled around them.

"No," the Selkie said, clutching her head, before releasing a wild screech that seemed to halt the swirling void around them for a blink of an eye. "This – s'not real! Don't yeh remember, Lady? Dammit, remember! Wake up!"

This is only a corrupted shard of your memory. Do not let it overcome you.

There it was – the last thing she could see before the darkness swallowed everything. A glint of metal, it radiated comfort and protection. Grabbing the sallet, she felt a spark of warmth within, even as she was consumed.

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A vast desert stretched before them, endless dunes of sand sparkling in the harsh sun. This would be where they hid the key. The three survivors looked grimly before them, knowing that there was no better place. It was remote and inhospitable, yet completely unforgettable. The birth of a life tree insured that. This was the home of the Selkies, their first home. Deep in the desert, a sign was carved against the rocks above a pool that flowed in from the ocean, a glyph of a creature stepping from the water and shedding its beastly skin. This was the birthplace of their people. At the cove, settlers were already arriving, never knowing that this place they thought of as a temporary haven was their one true home – it called to them, even if they did not understand why.

No one was left to carry on the memory of that time, but the life tree stood as a silent guardian of the past, sheltered in its cool cave.

"The key shall be sealed with the four elements: fire, water, wind, and earth. In spell form, they are activated by flame, chill, lightning and gravity. They must be arranged according to the places where the poison's grasp is weakest, places where the crystal's energy once flowed strongly…and then, in the wellspring, plant the final seed, the golden light born of the four elements." Terrand whispered, reading his carefully documented notes.

"And where they can be found, if one knows to search," Geirr added. "How in the blazes are we supposed to know where the crystal's energy flowed, without…?"

Izha Lul snorted, and led them onward.

"By th' smell, Red. Smell the fresh air. Can't hardly smell fresh air anyplace on Earth anymore, not if yeh don't want a lung full a' death," she said, squinting as she peered out into the desert.

"There are cities, you know. As long as they find more of those life trees, or if the life trees can indeed give more than one memory drop, the cities should remain breathable until we can defeat him," Terrand said, still peering at his notes.

"Said fresh air, didn't I? Can't find no fresh air in a city. Here, though…somethin' here feels right. T' me at least."

The three grim figures walked on silently, having exhausted all energy – physical or emotional – for talking.

The four of them stood before their enemy, a swirling dark figure without form or definition, save for a golden spark that glittered at its core. One by one, her companions were swallowed by the darkness, and it rose up to devour her as well.

You cannot kill me.

"No, we cannot. I do not believe any mortal could."

Then what is your plan, o Seer? How will you defeat me?

"I will not."

Splendid. I think I will enjoy this new world of mine. I find I like the taste of the fear of its people, of the chaos my birth has brought. I think that your memories shall be even sweeter.

"You will never have them."

Oh, really? And why not?

"You cannot take them because I have already given them away of my own will."

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A young man from a small town aspired to be great. With a love of reading and a passion for knowledge, he booked passage with the Crystal Caravans, studying the old archives of Shella, browsing the grand libraries of Alfitaria. Years of prejudice between the two cities, old grudges that never quite faded, meant that he was one of the few to ever read from both sources. He was the first to put together a complete copy of an ancient manuscript titled "Light of the Great Crystal," a collection by a little-known ancient poet named Terrand.

Life of light, live on o flower

Golden, golden as the sun

Sacred light begets your blossom

Sacred light that leads us on

Bloom, o bloom, my friend, o flower

Light the path that they may see

Awaken them when they've forgotten

Sacred flower, reveal the key

He knew the way would be dangerous, so he hired a bodyguard. There were few warriors in the Alfitarian Guard more skilled than Leon Esla. The Lilty was proud, saying that the quest they were on would make his name live on forever, and his infant son would wear the name with that same pride.

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Aurantha was gone. Her body lay on the ground, still and silent. The tunnel of wind and miasma howled and raged around them, but they couldn't feel its sting.

"The Carbuncles will help you. They have always been known for their long memories and wise words. When the time is right, and this door is opened, they will wait on the other side," she had said, but they couldn't listen, not after what she had said before.

"There is no reason for this, this insanity!" Terrand shouted, his glasses nearly sliding off his nose in his ire.

"I was hired to protect you, Lady – how in the blazes can you ask me to go along with this?" Geirr growled, for once agreeing with Terrand completely.

She turned away.

"The five crystals left here will be forever tied to the five you take with you. Fire, Water, Wind, and Earth – they shall bind themselves to the final element, Light," she said. "Once, that would have been enough…but the chain is broken, and the memories that guided us in the past are lost with the Great Crystal. The towns have all felt this, for their crystals cannot help but fade and die without that cycle to power them. For this key and lock to survive the test of time, it too must have a cycle – it too must become alive with living memories."

"Well, why can't we just use the nectar of those life trees? Didn't they say that they would bring life back to dying crystals?" Terrand demanded.

"That is a temporary solution, treating the symptom but not the cause of this disease. What would be the point of hiding this place if you were to return to it, again and again, till your descendants had to replace you in your duty? Even if that solution was feasible, it would not work. Where would my memories go, if I were to wait until my aged body surrendered at last? The cycle is broken, and my memories would wander, lost. To return the cycle to what it once was, the memory of that cycle must be renewed. I remember. I felt the flow of energy. I saw the past and future alike, a swirl of memories already made and those yet to be spun. It was…more beautiful than words can say. I must restore that flow. With my memories I must bind the lock and the key until the time is correct, and the world is reborn in light, the way it once was. It is not an ending, for I will survive in the flicker of the crystal, and in the memories you carry with you."

There was more noise, more argument. Izha Lul looked at the mountain, and at the golden crystal they had salvaged.

Silently, she pushed the men aside and placed the crystal in Aurantha's hands.

"We'll see it done," she whispered, and felt the ocean's siren call.

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In the end shall bloom a flower

Sacred Light reveals its power

She dreamed; her golden memories alive in the crystal seeds, buried before the heart of corruption and beneath sparkling sand in a desert where the miasma was thin.

She dreamed of eight youthful souls, with memories that were warm and gentle as hers had been. They were not yet ready.

Years passed, but they were as of nothing, for her memories were timeless in the crystal's heart. The eight souls had grown, and she saw what the world did not: their memories were brighter. Rather than fading with time, they shone brighter. She did not know what spark had formed within them, why they would the ones to break the cycle of corruption, though ages had passed since the meteor fell, though so many promising souls had come before them.

When the time grew near, she felt it within them. They had walked the same roads as the travelers had for centuries, gone to the same old paths and places as a thousand Myrrh-seekers had before, these eight had something within them that no Caravanners had before: hope. They had grown up in this world, ravaged and twisted as it was, thinking that the path they followed was the natural way of things. Such time had passed that the very idea of a world without Miasma, where Crystals shone bright with memories and there was no need for such a dangerous quest as Myrrh-seeking was little more than a dream, a fanciful tale to tell children. None believed such a thing, for no one could remember such a thing. Those memories were lost to the world, memories of the cycle unbroken.

That did not stop these brave souls from hoping, and hope was the fuel that made their memories burn brighter with every year.

Izha Lul lead the three to the desert.

Terrand's writings left the proper clues.

Geirr had brought the clues to the great libraries.

On the island where the sand sparkled and the fresh ocean breeze fought against the thick clouds of Miasma, a Golden Flower - Aurantha - was buried.

And the cycle was made complete when those eight stood before the lock, and raised their golden chalice high.