
A shiver ran down his spine as knuckles knocked on the door. Frank thought the Desians were back at it. Whispers from the outside crept into the house. If the baby was a girl, her name would be Colette. If the baby was a boy, his name would be Frank, just as his father.


Frank was worried that the persistent wounding of the mayor’s pride would eventually turn him into a gray person, but that was beyond his control.įrank greeted and kissed Nicolette, his wife, who had been bearing their child for some months. Everyone in Iselia knew that was a constant humiliation for the mayor, who had no choice but to bow his head and comply. In fact, a different one was in charge of the task every day, with the exception of the mayor, who was busy visiting the human ranch to make sure he met the Desian demands. Thus, the amount of food required to fee the entire population decreased over time, to the point in which one person alone could take care of the matter. Unless they themselves did not end at the farm as well, that is. When someone was taken to the human ranch, their relatives would usually keep their rooms as they were for a few months, even years sometimes but, eventually, they would face the truth: They would never see their loved ones again. It was a lot bigger in the past, but the constant Desian attack’s had eventually undermined the number of both houses and people. A small place, with barely half a dozen houses and twenty inhabitants at most. This is the Tale of one of them.įrank entered home after a hard day seeding the orchard in Iselia, the oracle’s village.

However, the are occasions, exceptions within the norm, in which they struggle and fight until the very end. The parents of said chosen ones usually come to terms with that destiny, moved by their faith. Since four thousand years ago, the church of Martel has been in charge of both marriages and births, in its relentless search of a perfect vessel for its Goddess. It is said that the Chosen of Regeneration is born with a Cruxis crystal in hands.
