Ahri 27, 1172 was the day it all began. I remember it perfectly, as if it were a memory perserved in my mind to be saved for a higher calling.
The day was dreary and overcast, and I had felt a few light drops of rain as I made my way through the gray slums of Kaneele, the capitol city of Rengner. The day felt gray, as if on that day, the god of art, Atizay had decided to stick with nothing but grayscale as he painted the canvas of Melanova.
It was a wet day, as well. The air was heavy with the premonition of a storm, and even the ground was moist thanks to the rain the day before. On my way through the city streets, I had seen