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river Abonris flowed northwards out from the clear waters of its mother lake, ending in lesser deltas and finger-like streams that watered the dying forests and the Hilgari Mountains to the north. The beautiful blue waters of the mighty river made a natural boundary for the white Capital, all the while guaranteeing its royal residents clean drinking water and plentiful irrigation for their lush gardens.
    Outside the Capital walls, the kingdom still shone with a generous measure of beauty, only this beauty was more of the practical kind. Guard towers replaced statuaries, and the elaborate fountains shed their frills. Instead of the artistically planted flower gardens and masterfully sculpted hedges, there stood herb gardens and fruited trees aplenty. These humble pops of green and savory scents brought a welcoming illumination to the cobbled streets and stone hearths of Haven.
    The deep waters of the Dark Sea were only a few hundred leagues from the Western Gate of Haven, and the wandering tribes and outlying villages were mostly concentrated in the dusky lands between shore and city. Since the great tree started shedding its branches, the threat of unrest and uprisings had left the people of Westriver with no time for much more than the practicalities of defense. This borough housed the heart of Haven’s military strength, so the humble yet industrious community was made up mainly of smithies, stables, barracks, and a few well-frequented taverns.
    Cal walked into the doorway of the modest chapel in Westriver like he had for the last twenty-one years of his life. Taking his seat with the rest of the bowing parishioners, he listened to the familiar whispers of those who lived in the loveless realm of fear and tradition.
    As was their custom, the Priest would make his prayers from atop the small platform, petitioning the THREE who is SEVEN in practiced piety. “Oh great and holy One, my brothers and I beg you to assuage Your anger for the evil and lazy ways of our great city’s citizens. We ask You to grant us forests enough to light our way to your right and bright kingdom.”
    The people would then, in unison but without much enthusiasm, say the practiced words, “May it be.” They prayed in agreement with the Priest and hoped their collective accord might sway the mind of the THREE who is SEVEN to come to their aid and light the darkening world once again.
    For the better part of the silver evening, the way of the flint would be dogmatically recited to the gathered body. The Priest would convey his instructions with a fiery passion. “If our lives are lived with true resolve, we can strike the stone-like cold of this dying world and spark a new fire for all of Haven to live by.”
    The sermonizing, though practical in concept, was ruthless in its expectations. Those that followed the way of the flint lived out the better part of their fading existence in joyless obedience. However, the message of the Priests of Haven was indeed compelling, and many took up the call to light this world with the strength of axe and the brute force of resolve.
    Teams of woodcutters filled the northern territories, and they laid waste to the once green forestland with their flint-like hymns and unrelenting fervor. Most of those who joined the ranks of the woodcutters were gone from friends and family for a seemingly endless number of days; this holy sacrifice and unrelenting calling forged new brotherhoods amongst the men of the axe.
    Though the work was backbreaking and the conditions were cold and grey and highly unpredictable, the woodcutters did not complain, nor did their families petition for their swift return home. Their absence was seen as a sacrifice of praise to please the ears of the THREE who is SEVEN, for all who followed the way of the flint wished to gain the favor of this God that they feared. In fact, many a citizen of Haven took great pride in such stringent humility, believing that their commitment to the Priestly