Golden Origin
On the Sunward Bough of the Tree of Harmony there were many golden leaves that drank the light of distant stars and shone with their own brilliance to illuminate the axis of the worlds.
On these branches many homes were built in which the Kirin dwelt, descendants of the Dragons that live on high.
The Kirin lived on the top and underneath, and on every splintered frond, basking in the glow of the leaves which gave them light and warmth. Their homes were meek and their manners were mild, and there was hardly a conflict among them because they did not speak.
There were no insults, no gossip, no accusations or bickering. But there was also no poetry, no history. There were no stories.
Or so it seemed.
Though they had no words to speak or voices to sing they did have music, the melodies passed down through the generations. Some were soaring arias to be played when the Dragons could be glimpsed between the boughs, while others were somber lamentations played when a mature soul was harvested from a burnt-out vessel and delivered to the highest bough, beyond even the Dragon Aeries.
Yet for one child of Autumn, the melodies were not enough. She longed to sing with them, to know the names of those that came before whose faces she had never seen. It was as though a vacuum was waiting to be filled and she knew what to fill it with, just not how to fill it.
Then one day they came: the Pony-folk from below. They came because their bough was severed by the Antlered Wyrm that gnaws endlessly on the Tree, and with them they brought chatter and they brought fear.
Though the Kirin welcomed them they did not take kindly to their complaints. They were loud, quarrelsome and noisy. Every Kirin viewed them with apprehension, except for the child of Autumn.
The child believed that there was great significance in the fact that the Kirin could understand their language, and felt that it was what she needed to fill the void.
These words once belonged to the Kirin as well, and some vestige of this language still dwelt within them. If only she could tease it out.
Yet her wonder was out of place in this time of disruption. The Ponies had been displaced, driven from their home which even now could be seen hurtling into the void beyond, made lifeless and dark by the Wyrm’s Curse.
Those that dared watch sang their lamentations, and the child of Autumn found that she did not like what she heard.
Some of the more raucous Ponies struggled to communicate with the silent Kirin, becoming angry and violent. They shouted at them, frustrated that they would not speak, yet unwilling or unable to make an attempt at understanding their subtle way of communication.
Eventually it was decided that the Ponies would depart the branch and make their way to Sol Celestia, a feat never-before attempted. They would sail the void come Autumn on the golden leaves, and the child of Autumn would go with them as their guide.
But it was not to be, for the Antlered Wyrm arrived before they could leave, taking advantage of the discord to sink its teeth into the sturdy branch’s crotch.
The Dragons then came to the aid of their distant kin, swooping down from on-high and ravaging the Wyrm with their fiery breath and scratching at its hide with their sharp talons, attempting to uncoil it from the trunk.
The Kirin also fought, using their horns to pry its bloated body from the tree.
Though she desperately wanted to go with the Ponies and learn from them, the child of Autumn knew the danger the Wyrm posed and could see the fear in the faces of the displaced.
With a heavy heart she severed their leaves and sent them on their way, turning back to face the Wyrm, which had chewed through much of the branch by then.
Furious at being denied and fearing for her home, the child of Autumn raged, screaming silently as though in a dream, yet so great was her anguish that the great phoenix Philomena took pity on her and descended upon the young Kirin, transforming her into a wrathful avatar.
Her voice finally broke through, as though she had screamed herself awake, and Autumn Blaze charged the hideous, malformed creature that so hated the harmony her people revered.
Fire streaked from her eyes and mouth, and though her cries were wordless they were infused with a raw fury inherited from her ancestors.
Plunging her horn into the eye of the Wyrm, she focused all her rage and channeled it into the wound, burning away the eye and sending the creature reeling.
Having released its grip on the branch the Wyrm was swiftly peeled off the tree by the Dragons, sending it hurtling toward the roots below where it would sleep and regain its strength. However, the eye destroyed by the Nirik would never grow back.
So they had won, and the Dragons returned to their Aeries. The Phoenix receded into the child of Autumn, who looked back upon the devastation with sorrow.
Yet the golden leaves were on their way, untouched by the Wyrm’s Curse which even then spread from the spot where its fangs had pierced the branch, darkening it with its poison.
Autumn Blaze could not accept this, and with her inner fire burned away the poison, illuminating the branch from within. After that, all there was to do was let the sap of the tree fill the wound and begin to heal.
Thanks to her, come Spring the leaves would grow again and her people would not be left in both silence and darkness. Yet the victory did not resonate in her heart.
She walked to the furthest point and watched the leaves until she could see them no more, and in that moment the ancient, wordless lament was about her.