Over four hundred sweeps ago, there was a blueblood, from an island region in Alternia's north. He was not a powerful or impressive blueblood - his peers tended to laugh at him, for he was a nightdreamer, clever with his fingers, not strong or a good fighter as highbloods are expected to be. So one night, he left his home, took his small laughing avian lusus, and traveled far, far away down to the south and west of the planet, in search of a place he had heard of only in rumors - a place of lowbloods in hiding. He found them. Rather, they found him. For a time he was more captive than guest, but slowly, they grew to know him, and he them. He even fell in flush with their leader, and helped construct many buildings and structures for the fledgling town. Of course, nothing lasts forever. Enemies found the hidden place, and took what they wanted - including him. He was a psychic, you see. A weak one, but a psychic nonetheless, who always knew if someone was telling him the truth or not. His enemies wanted him punished, but they were not the type to give up a useful tool. So they made him into a truth-telling machine, and thus he remained as such until he slowly withered away and died in silent obscurity. Yet he is still remembered. And he is still missed, to this night. ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ Poor blue, turned to something that you were never meant to be. You'll be remembered, not as a truth-teller, but as a friend. A creator. A builder. @dawnlightSonder Thank you for the story. ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏ 𓆩Tale told𓆪
