The Tale of the Threefold Realms
Fendro sat at the fire, the night chill pressed against the circle of light, and sparks drifted like tiny stars vanishing into the dark. The gatherers leaned close, some weary from the road, others troubled by rumors that carried unrest from distant towns. They asked him of the old words, the truths handed down from the Lightrealm. Fendro listened, nodding slowly, then spoke, his voice steady as the flames themselves.
“There are three realms,” Fendro began, letting silence linger, “and every soul must know them. For though our eyes see only this place of soil and stone, we live in the midst of something greater. The struggle of our day is not new—it is the ancient tension of the Threefold Realms.”
He lifted a stick from the fire, its tip glowing red, and drew three lines in the dirt before him.
“Above us is the Lightrealm—eternal, radiant, unshadowed. There rules the Almighty, the throne of wisdom and strength. From there come the Luminaries, the Helpers, ministers of counsel and guardians of the humble. Quick is their sword, yet sharper still is their word. For they carry truth as their weapon, and wisdom as their shield. Never far are they, though unseen. To those who stumble, to those who cry for help, they come—not to walk in place of man, but to guide, to strengthen, to guard his steps. For we must walk our own road, yet we do not walk alone.”
The gatherers stirred, some nodding as if to a memory deep within them.
Fendro’s tone lowered, and the fire hissed as a log split, sparks rushing upward. “Beneath us lies the Shadowrealm. There brood the bitter ones—the Twicedead, hollow and heartless. Once of the Light, they are now void of it. Deceit is their tongue, mischief their craft. They carry no sword, yet their weapon is sharper: it pierces mind and heart, bending truth until it breaks. For they know the weakness of man, and they strike with three chains—endless pride, the hunger of the eye, and the craving of flesh. With these they bind the careless, leading them deeper into shadow, until even their laughter turns to ash.”
He paused, letting the silence weigh heavy. The faces around the fire glowed in the flickering light, eyes fixed upon him.
“And here,” Fendro said, tapping the middle line in the dirt, “is the Netherrealm. This is our dwelling—the realm of man and beast. But do not think of it as home. It is not the end, but the passage. We are sojourners here, travelers upon a road of many forks. Each path we choose, each voice we heed, draws us either toward the Light or into Shadow. The Netherrealm is where the battle of voices resounds. Above us the Luminaries whisper counsel, steady and clear. Beneath us the Twicedead stir with venom, twisting every thought. And we—” he leaned forward, eyes shining—“we must discern, and choose. Choose well, weary traveler, for the path leads onward, to dwelling eternal.”
The fire cracked, and a hush fell among the gatherers. Some stared into the flames as though seeing their own choices burning there. Others clenched their hands, as though testing the strength of unseen chains.
Fendro set the stick aside, its ember dimming. His voice softened. “This world is the fire, and we are the gold. Each trial, each fork of the road, is heat that refines us. Do not despise the fire—it proves the worth of the gold. Seek the Light, heed its counsel, and the chains of Shadow cannot hold you. The Helpers are near, but the step must be yours. Be diligent, for the deceiver’s path is wide and swift, yet it leads only to ruin. The narrow way is harder, but it shines with promise, for it leads upward, to the Lightrealm eternal.”
He leaned back, eyes reflecting flame. “This is the Tale of the Threefold Realms. Remember it well. For in knowing where you stand, you will better know how to walk.”
