DAEMIA

The blazing sun shines through the tiny gaps between dense leaves, with spots of light and shadow dancing on Daemia's immaculate arm. She is turning one of her feathers into a miniature messenger. In days, the messenger will travel from this scorching beach on the warm monsoon wind, flying straight to the icy mountaintops until it lands on the shoulder of Titus' who is the guardian of Dura Temple. "Everything is fine and dandy this year. The people are enthusiastic and friendly, praising the beautiful sunlight I bring… Soon, we shall meet again." Daemia gazes as her miniature messenger flies off while ships ply the sea in the near distance. Each year, she sends out her messenger to Titus, but she is always reluctant to tell him that the mortals are in fact a pitiful species.

Thousands of years ago, Daemia often sent Dura off from the mountaintops and only reunited with her upon her return. Each time, Daemia would decorate the snowy white temple with glorious sunlight and brilliant flowers. Daemia had never heeded the mortals whom Dura had looked after. Little did she expect, however, that the people would dream of becoming equals with the gods after Dura had granted them fire. She expected even less that when the mortals finally reaped what they had sown, Dura would perish due to her dwindling power. Sad and confused, Daemia decided to leave the mountaintops and take a look for herself the mortal world for which Dura had sacrificed her life. Before her departure, Daemia went to Dura's Temple. Titus, the temple's guardian asked a favor of her, that she would share with him what she saw beyond the mountains. In the ensuing millennia, Daemia traveled the length and breadth of the various realms of Esperia. Daemia brought summer to farmers who had hoped for abundant yields; but in return, she also heard them cursing the droughts. She also granted the gardeners their wish for lush blooms; but soon they started blaming the sudden rain. The nobility who had taken off their fur coats detested the sweltering heat, and even children that were catching fireflies would complain of the sounds of cicadas… Experiencing this again and again, Daemia grew used to the mortals' ignorance, greed, rudeness, and lack of gratitude. But she felt sorry for Dura. Oh well, let's end it here then. Daemia decided to wrap up her journey and boarded a three-masted ship bound for Hathor from this port, preparing for her return to the mountaintops.

Daemia stood on the deck and gazed into the distance. The wind was strong, the ship was in full sail, and the sailors were singing tunes celebrating summer. "In about two hours," Daemia thought, "the sailors would start feeling the intense heat and cursing summer." At this moment, a thick fog rolled over and engulfed the ship in a haze of white. The sailor stopped singing and awaited their captain's instructions. Suddenly, a horn sounded in the air. Daemia looked toward the source and saw some sea-dwelling Ya emerging from the water surface. Some of these Ya from the Otter Clan were blowing conches while others were waving flags woven out of aquatic plants, as though they were sending a message to this lost ship. Just as she wanted to ask the sailor next to her, Daemia already saw the answer. It was a giant chunk of drift ice. Ordinarily, drift ice should not appear on this route. The only possible explanation was that the intense heat had melted icebergs far away and sent ice adrift to the middle of the sail route. To make matters worse, a thick fog had descended and blocked the ship's view. The captain quickly ordered the chief mate and sailors to control the rudder and sails in order to change the ship's course. However, a three-masted ship was no small boat which could be easily turned around. The crew only had little room to maneuver the ship. The clock was ticking and the monsoon wind continued to push the ship forward. If nothing was done, the ship would inevitably crash into the ice and break asunder, and over 200 souls on board couldn't be rescued. Their lives hang by a thread. Nonetheless, turning the ship too abruptly would also ram it into the Reef Village––the ship might be able to continue sailing after the damage, but around half of the crew could drown. Moreover, it would also wipe out the Otter Clan who dwelt in the village. Besides… the Ya were just doing their best to warn the ship of the incoming hazard. Should they try to save as many crew as possible, or should they embrace their horrible fate and avoid putting innocent lives in harm's way? Panicked, everyone was staring at the captain's hands which were grasping the rudder tightly. "This damn summer wind!" Tears of despair trickled down the captain's face. Obviously, he would have forgotten now the smooth sail they had enjoyed earlier from the wind. At this moment, all he had were curses born out of fear and helplessness. Suddenly, Daemia understood Dura's predicament. The mortals, who look forward to yet resent summer, are like the captain now who is torn between two choices that would both lead to death. They are not strong enough to pay the price for their choices––unable to withstand droughts on their wheat fields and sudden rain destroying their flowers; unable to fully embrace summer. This was not greed or ignorance. It was simply weakness and frailness. And Dura knew that about them. So she expected little. Daemia heaved a long sigh and a hot beam shot out from her staff. A powerful gust of wind tilted the ship to a different direction and the sea waves rolled. For a while, the sails creaked and swayed and the ship wobbled violently before it finally skirted the ice and moved toward safer waters.

A year later, Daemia's messenger took off on its journey once again. "In the past year, we've been to many places. The land is fertile and nature is vibrant, except that the mortals are clumsy and hard to teach… I reckon, we will only meet in a few hundred years…"

"Summer is the best season. You agree, don't you?"