The Temple of Sura
The Temple of Sura
The Fall of the Royal Trees and the Last of the Vethrs
Is fiction a form of escapism? A few posts back, I wrote about the Thornsade, and to my surprise, it became one of the most visited posts on this publication.
This had two delightful outcomes: it silenced my inner critic and brought joy to my day. So I decided to pursue fiction in the form of short stories. In addition, the process of illustrating this story with Midjourney has been incredibly rewarding.
Today, I am deeply committed to crafting fiction that resonates with my inner voice and reflects the world around me. Thanks to you!
The story you are about to read draws inspiration from a vast array of mythologies and stories I've encountered over the past 43 years. It's also knitted with elements from the real world. Whether these elements stand out - if they do, please let me know - or blend seamlessly into the narrative, I hope they resonate with you.
Whichever the case may be, I appreciate the fact that you are here, I appreciate and value your time as you could be doing something else, instead of reading this email or visiting the web version of Rebel Strokes. I salute you.
Without further ado, welcome to the Temple of Sura.
The Temple of Sura
Since the dawn of time, when light was to be feared and revered, trees ruled as kings and queens. Their vast mycelium networks sustained Aiga, the mother world, and there was peace among all conscious beings.
Among these ancient beings, there exists a mystical place accessible only to those with the right soul—hidden in the peninsula of Ēota, invisible to the untrained eye. Only a few possess this rare gift, and they remain unaware of their power.
This sacred place is known as the Temple of Sura.
Sura echoes the forgotten magic of a realm - our realm - ruled by the ancient Rellobb Queen tree, now unseen and unremembered.
Five thousand generations ago, the Vethrs—beings who feed on the magic of the royal trees’ leaves and, in return, vowed their protection—erected a structure that bridged these mighty trees with the inner and outer worlds.
Vethrs, capable of morphing into any form, traverse between the inner and outer worlds to maintain the balance between Aiga, the mother world, and Ellyllon, the father world—a balance vital as neither can exist without the other
Vethrs were created by Ellyllon out of a comet light, to protect Aiga. Aiga, in return, created the Olyss, a passage made of a thousand lights that allows the Vethrs to connect Aiga, Ellyllon and the outer worlds, to preserve a balance to be kept between all the forces that make everything be. For each of the thousand lights, a shadow must exist.
While at Sura, the Vethrs, oftentimes, not every time, take a translucent humanoid blue shape with light orange eyes and faceless features. A vestige of a time when they used to speak and live in harmony with humans from the past.
The temple of Sura boasts pristine mineral waters, untouched by humankind. Its walls, veiled in dew-laden leaves, lead to a chamber that bathes in sunlight, turning sorrow into cries of joy.
The upper chamber, reserved for the Vethrs, serves as a vantage point high in Sura, overseeing Ēota. From there, they overlook the branches of the royal trees and perform the Gegghy—a sacred rite where fire dances, lit by the Ildfyr. These tiny yet formidable creatures can ignite anything instantly if not appeased with the proper sacrifices and spells by the Vethrs to protect the tree kingdoms.
The Gegghy rite involves chanting that traces the shape of the infinite symbol (∞), repeated for as many generations as the Kings and Queens trees have ruled. This continues until the Vethrs unite in spirit, channelling the energy released by the Ildfyr deep into Aiga’s core, renewing the mother world energy in a continuum that brings renewed life to Kings and Queens of Ēota and their subjects.
Gegghy, ancient as the world itself, takes place every winter’s solstice, and the sun and the moon and the inner and outer worlds are open for every being to see, dive and become one, symbolizing death and rebirth.
The inner chambers of Sura are bathed in sunlight captured during the day and dimmed at night to protect the Prince and Princess Seedlings. Only adult trees can withstand the harsh light of the sun, now intensified by human interference with Aiga's womb.
This nurturing and nursing light lacks the intensity needed for a full growth cycle. As a result, the Vethrs harvest moonlight using Sunts—blind creatures with skin covered in silver and dots of gold, with a thousand legs, about the size of a small pig.
By night, the Sunts proliferate; by day, they implode, casting forth a burst of light and colors reflecting the essence of both inner and outer worlds. Feeding the Royal Seedlings with what humans understand as “maná”.
The Prince and Princess Seedlings, emerging from the branches of Rellobb with each full moon, require at least 100 human years to reach maturity. However, in Sura, this span is merely a day, as time and space are fluid and moldable in this secluded corner of Aiga. The Vethrs ensure the royal Seedlings get transferred to Sura with the urgency and care needed. Only 2 to 16 seedlings in each moon cycle are brought to Sura, depending on the health of Rellobb.
Last moon, a tragic horror unfolded, heralding ominous times ahead. For the first time since “the dawn of all that is,” a royal seedling perished. In the immediate aftermath, the birds fell silent, the air grew heavy and almost unbreathable, and a single drop of gold resin wept from Rellobb.
The Vethrs' cry, a hollow sound unheard since the era when light itself was black, reverberated through the kingdom.
In the days following this tragedy, the entrance of Sura was sealed, marking a thousand-year isolation for those who sought its wisdom.
The Vethrs, now trapped within the temple of Sura, witnessed the Olyss blockage sever the vital connection between Aiga and Ellyllon. This broken link ushered an era of silence that persists to this day.
Over time, the once-mighty Kings and Queens began to lose their leaves, and the Vethrs, one by one, became pitch-black marble. Now, only a few remain.
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