Once upon a time, many centuries ago, there lived a man named Arathlil. He was one of the first generations of the race that had come to be known as the trill, who were possessed of many of the memories of the Elder Goddess that had splintered to form them.

 

Or, at least, they had been - for over many years, Arathlil had watched in sadness as so many of his generation had begun, slowly, to forget that which they had been given by their progenitors. Though most of them did not age, one by one they fell victim to other losses of memory: some fell into deep slumber, never to awaken; a number died without returning; others became ill, or quite simply forgot.

 

Before long, Arathlil and his sister, Kiajol, found that they were the only trill left of their generation - and that their children, and their grandchildren, possessed none of the memories of Trillillial. Desperation seized the two of them, and they began to search for a way to capture the pure form of their memories.

 

Kiajol took to art, and painted out her memory of the pain of the other Elders' treachery, but knew that she would never truly capture the emotion - for all others who viewed the painting would do so through their own eyes. She tried poetry, but her words fell on ears that did not know the power that was an Elder God's love, and could not possibly understand.

 

Her brother told stories, but quickly found that his words changed over time - that even though he remembered things one way, he would tell them another, and the people to whom he told the stories would change them again. Not out of malice, or sabotage, but simply because the memory was a fallible thing.

 

After many years of trying, Kiajol came to her brother in despair. "I must tell you something, my darling," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. "I - I have started to forget."

 

"No!" cried Arathlil, reaching over to clasp his sister's shoulders. "Kia, you can't forget. If we do not remember what it felt like to love Him, then who will? Someone must remember!"

 

Tears shone in Kiajol's eyes as she shook her head, knowing in her heart that nothing could prevent her from losing the memories that she held so dear. Seeing her pain, her brother ceased his speech and wrapped her in a feathered embrace, though his heart pounded with fear.

 

Over the ensuing months, as Kiajol lost more and more of her memories, Arathlil doubled the speed and depth of his attempts to conserve the memories. He searched the Basin for any technology that could capture emotions, any magic that would grant him a chance to preserve Her love for Xyl.

 

He found none - and as the last of Trillillial's memories faded from his sister's mind, Arathlil began to feel them abandon him. One by one, he began to lose his hold upon them - no longer could he recall precisely each angle of Xyl, no longer could he see in his mind's eye each unique colour that refracted through His perfect crystal, no longer could he hear his beloved's voice, soft and low.

 

Enveloped in despair, Arathlil returned home to his family. He refused to speak for  weeks, and instead stared into space, simply replaying the last memories of Trillillial in his mind, desperate to cling to them. Only his granddaughter, Jorial, was able to coax any reaction from him - for though she was trill she reminded him of precious Xyl, with her never-ending curiosity and insight into the world around her.

 

Finally, at long last, Jorial managed to coax out of her grandfather the core of the sadness that was pulling him down into a deep depression. He told her of his search, of his failure, and of the increasing void in his mind as he slowly lost more and more of what She had given him.

 

"It's hopeless," Arathlil sighed, cradling his face in his hands and beginning to weep. "I shall forget - I shall forget, and there is nothing to be done about it."

 

Flashing her grandfather a small, sad smile, Jorial wrapped her slender fingers over his and linked them together, pulling him gently to his feet. Silently, she led him through the hills around their village until they came to a lone peak, shrouded in forest.

 

Finally, after what seemed like both aeons and no time at all, she turned to him and smiled. "It's alright, grandfather!" she said, happily - and though Arathlil opened his mouth to reply, she silenced him with a gesture of her hand as she pointed into a small glade within the forest.

 

Arathlil followed her gaze and saw that it fell upon two young boys - one feathered, the other made of a pristinely translucent crystal. They stood entwined in one another's arms, and Arathlil watched with his breath caught in his throat as the trill reached up and traced his soft fingertips along the straight line of the lucidian's jaw.

 

"See, grandfather?" Jorial said, squeezing his hands for comfort as tears began to run down the old trill's cheeks. "We remember. We will always remember."