Epigraph
From the north the red will rise,
Under her wings grace shall fall.
Seek ye the child of innocence,
The holy defender, the chosen of the light,
Of purity born, of blood she seeks.
By north and by south,
Brothers not of blood, but of bond, bear the flame,
Under the dark and the light, the shadow will rise.
Three cycles shall pass
From the dark side of the moon.
By fire and steel, magic falters,
Kissed by fate, by fate answered
When the moon and the sun
Are joined as one,
From tears of strife, from the bitter ashes,
From sorrow and from rage
That what was once parted
Shall again be one.
