Annwyn stood before an altar, the stone surface slick with fresh blood. She had made an offering to the god of death; just as she had done countless times before. Her heart pounded as the last drop of blood fell from her dagger onto the altar. And then a thick mist began to rise from the ground, enveloping her. Her vision blurred, and she felt a sudden pull. The world around her dissolved into darkness, and she fell down into a void.

When she opened her eyes, Annwyn found herself in her homeland, a place of beauty, of the ancients, and misty willows with their dancing branches. In the distance, she could hear the faint chanting of her people, a sound of prayer and familiarity. She started to run, desperate to reach them. But what she arrived to was the ghostly forms of hauntingly pale figures, cloaked with eyes that burned as they watched her approach them and their gathering. But it was not her people, no. Yet they called to her anyway.

Child. Child. Why do you seek to redeem yourself, Selfish One? What drives you to appease the gods?

Her chest tightened, her guilt causing her teeth to gnash as memory of her crime rush to the forefront of her mind. But she had to answer. “I seek restoration. I wish to regain my honor. So that I might be reborn when this body dies, I must immortalize my soul once again!” She stood steadfast, her ears pinned to her skull as she faced the scrutiny of these... beings. The figures circled her, both comforting and chilling. The chains draped across her body jingled, and the healed scar on her shoulder began to bleed and glow with a brand, just as it had when the wound first stripped her of her birthright.

Your path is fraught with peril, Annwyn Myfïol. Redemption is not easily won. Arawn watches, but he is not easily swayed. Embrace the darkness within, but do not let it consume you. Find a soul that might redeem your own.

The words echoed in her mind, but the forest around her began to shift and change. She found herself standing before a great willow, perhaps centuries old. At its base, a pool of water reflected back at her, its surface shimmering with an ethereal glow. Kneeling beside the pool, Annwyn gazed within its depths. The water rippled, giving way to visions of her past. The moment she abandoned her post, the faces of the children she failed to protect, and the burning away of her clan marking. The pain and regret surged within her, but she did not look away. “I have been searching! This land does not have the same beliefs as I! What am I to do? What chance have I?!” The girl pleaded, tail lashing behind her, but the voices would not respond any longer; the spirits having left her to the constant replay of her crime.


"Annwyn Myfïol"

In the spectral realm of Somnium, Aurelia felt the threads of Annwyn's desperation pulling at her. She had watched from the shadows, unseen and unheard, observing the unfolding narrative of the fallen warrior. Now, she felt a strange bond with this lost soul, their tragedies and misgivings twining together in an intricate dance of shared pain and regret. The spirits had tasked her with guiding Annwyn, but how was she to do that when she herself bore the weight of her own failures? Her thoughts swirled, chaotic and unsteady as a snowstorm.

Aurelia approached the pool, her ethereal form casting no reflection on the still water. She saw Annwyn's reflection warped with pain and regret, a mirror image of the torment that she herself carried. The spirits had spoken, this was her task. “Hello, Annwyn.” Her voice echoed, even in the small space between them. “My name is Aurelia, and I am here to help you.” Her words were a gentle outstretched paw in the darkness. A glimmer of hope, perhaps, in this sorrow-filled existence. She hesitated a moment, to allow her words to sink in before continuing.

“I was born to a clan that grew into tainted beliefs. Gods were abandoned, and therefore abandoned us. Rituals forgotten, and beliefs were traded for self-serving greed. In my own way, I too have disappointed the spirits- but with my ignorance.” Aurelia paused, her cyan eyes filled with both sorrow and determination. "But we are not the sum of our failures, Annwyn. We are defined by how we rise after falling, and that's why I'm here. Not because I have to be, but because I believe you can rise from this." The atmosphere of Somnium seemed to ripple in response to her declaration as her attention fell to the pool before them.

“I died in childbirth- it was an act of mercy. My clan adopted a soul-binding ritual, and the vile individual who entered that contract with me was my punishment. But my children, they... they were innocent. My death was a sacrifice, and they live because of my repentance.” Her words hung heavy in the air between them. Aurelia turned her gaze back to Annwyn, her cyan eyes mirroring the icy pools of sorrow she found there. “But they will be doomed to ignorance as well, unless they learn the truth about our heritage, our beliefs. They are the next generation, and they can choose to break from the tainted path we tread." Aurelia's gaze softened as she looked at Annwyn. "And I believe you can also break from your past. The spirits want to give you a chance of redemption- and your salvation, Annwyn, is tied to theirs. To help them understand and reclaim our lost traditions, to guide them away from the destructive path we once walked. To be their protector. Through this, you can find absolution." Her voice echoed in the spectral realm, every syllable reverberating with a conviction that was hard to ignore.


"Aurelia Veratti"

Annwyn’s grief and confusion was silenced in an instant. She wrenched her gaze from the reflection of her failures from the pool below, her skull snapping up to lock onto the form now addressing her. The woman who spoke her name colored in gray and azure, fully here before her and yet… not. She was otherworldly, a soul, but where was her body?

For a moment, Annwyn stood frozen, her guarded nature at war with the awe that flickered in her gaze. But awe won out. How could it not, when this stranger came so swiftly after her desperate prayer to Arawn? The words of his messengers still echoing in her mind, whispering of redemption. A soul to redeem her own. She rose to her paws, aligning herself to face the woman; her chains jangling softly with the movement.

“Aurelia,” Annwyn said at last, her voice steady, trying to keep her composure. She could not allow desperation to enter her tone. Acceptance, perhaps. Or maybe resignation. But she did not desire pity, even from this kindred soul. “The Gods have a way of weaving fated paths together, I suppose. You understand my burden, my pain? My need for redemption?” It was a question, but she almost felt as though she knew the woman’s answer already. And she had no reason to believe them a liar, not when the timing of her appearance was so precise, so impossibly aligned. Fated. Yet Annwyn was not one to trust blindly. Her clan had taught her too well the dangers of misplaced faith, even before they turned their backs on her.

As the specter spoke of heritage, of greed, of her life and death. Of the children left with no guidance. She took a step closer, muscular frame rippling as she beckoned the ghostly woman for more answers while giving her own. “My clan has forsaken me,” she confessed, her voice gruff with the painful truth. “In my desperation, I sought Arawn’s guidance, hoping he might show me a way to claw back some semblance of honor. I have fallen far, Aurelia. Make no mistake.” Her lips curled into something between a grimace and a smirk, a bitter acknowledgment of her path. “But it is a descent I have chosen willingly. What is wickedry in the face of dying without even a shred of grace?”

Her eyes fixed on Aurelia with a sharpness both challenging and imploring. Annwyn’s pride warred with her desperation, leaving her tone balanced on the edge of indifference and fervor. Once, she had been on the path to becoming A Priestess, a part of her community that sought to shape those around her. To be a role model. Aurelia’s words brought that aspiration back to the surface of her being, and made her jaw clench in thought. “The truth of our heritage…” She paused, tilting her head slightly, her expression shifting between contemplation and intrigue. “Are you certain? I could take on such a task, I am certain, but would the children of someone as vile as you describe listen to me? Heed me? Can their souls still be reached?” Aurelia seemed to desire her children to embody her beliefs, but in a form far greater than her own path had taken. A… call back to their roots. The origin of their religion. Though Annwyn herself had been relegated to meager rituals, and Aurelia herself was now a part of the Otherworld… there was the opportunity to teach, to guide and watch her efforts come to fruition in hands, new and untainted.

Annwyn kept her composure as she awaited her answer, but beneath the surface was a plea hidden in the low rumble of her voice. A vulnerability. A desperation. Her gaze remained steadfast—determined, but softened by the faintest glimmer of hope. Redemption. A chance. The very things she had been searching for—for seasons—now offered to her. She wanted so badly to take hold of it, to seize her honor once again. Even if she must wield her wickedness to achieve it.



"Annwyn Myfïol"