The old shaman blinked his dim eyes. The Crystal City sighed under Buraindomun, the Blind Moon, and the blue veins that usually pulsed through the stone slept.
Kyran stared at the Soul Tree, at the final pulse of light that hung in the fruit. On this night every year the shaman told the same story while his people waited for the pain.
Yes, I’m going to post a teaser and a link, but you should check out my origin myth for the Soul Seers at Lands of Unitus.