The Beginning

473 years ago, a country was born.

The Priestess kneeled in front of the lone shrine, praying for the silver butterfly to hear her pleas on behalf of those suffering.

The land was bare and barren. 

Empty.

Nothing could grow.

No rain fell.

It was dry and arid like a desert.

The people there in this small patch of land begged and cursed the gods for aid, throwing their hands up to the far away skies, pleading and crying out for a miracle.

No one above heard the pleas of the mortals, except one.

A figure bathed in golden light descended to the dry land, casting their glow across the plains and with a single touch, fine tuned the earth to respond.

The gold light shone down on the fields, the people and the animals, warmth spreading all around. The earth shook itself to life.

Next came the rain. The silver butterfly shrine seemed to have responded and a heavy downpour of crimson rain nourished the land below, drenching it until all had been absorbed.

The rain poured continuously for 8 days and 8 nights, the Priestess taking cover to shield herself from the rain and cleaning the shrine to appease the master.

Once the rain ceased, the moon appeared in the dark sky, illuminating all that was down below. Its shining rays flooded the world and the mortals used its silver light to find their way, sending prayers to the spirit high above. The first crops grew under the joint sun and moon light, aided by the red rain that would pour.

The Priestess stayed here. In the little land. She built a home, a family, a legacy.

The legacy that still stands to this day.

473 years later.