The legendary Holy Man Mao'Khim wrote a strange document before he died almost two millennia ago. It was a long piece of parchment upon which a long string of strange symbols was drawn – triangles, circles, ovals, and many other confusing shapes. In the bottom right corner, he wrote "Embellum tay vivi" – "I have met God" in Maidrim, a language that died only a few centuries after him. Wisemen and scholars have pondered over this truly perplexing document ever since. Most of them thought that his words were simply his farewell before he ended his life with his dagger – and the symbols were a code that, if ever deciphered, would tell the purpose of the strange medallion that he left behind.

-

Aramand's lips formed a knowing smile as he played with the medallion in the palm of his hand. It was, indeed, peculiar, but completely logical – once one understood its meaning. In the center of it was a golden imitation of a typical angel wing, half an inch is size, enclosed into a golden ring. Attached to the ring were a silver sword, a bronze staff, and an oak branch made of simple gray rock. All three were the same length – roughly two inches in length and all three supported a second, larger ring, made of a strange brownish shiny material. Alchemists only recently found it to be made of arcanium – a metal probably taken from one of the meteorites that fell from the sky during Mao'Khim's time.

It took Aramand many years to be able to hold this artifact in his hands as he did now: three years of being a slave to the damned priest at Mao'Sham, then eight more years of the Academy, and another five at the Grand Temple, writhing before the Priest, until he had the chance to venture into his room one night and snatch the medallion away, along with the parchment. He spent sixteen years working to get the medallion, and then ten more years traveling. Twenty-six years. He was now thirty-two. Mao'Khim killed himself right before his twenty-seventh birthday.

He left the world a map. Yes, a map. How the wisest men of the world could not see this before Aramand was beyond his understanding. The long chain of symbols was simply a chain of directions, starting at the place of Mao'Khim's birth – a mountain that is now named after his name. There was a lake near that mountain, if one went a few hundred miles southward into the plains, and the first symbol on the parchment was an oval – directing to travel towards that lake. The next symbol was a line – a river. Aramand followed the river that flowed out of the lake until the next key – another mountain symbolized by a triangle. And so he went, from symbol to symbol, from landmark to landmark. Sometimes it took him weeks to understand what the next symbol meant, but he was always sure of his choices. It took him ten years to complete the journey – exactly the amount of time it took Mao'Khim to travel there and back, but he arrived to his destination. The parchment ended with a circular shape with rough borders, signifying a rock. And so Aramand stood, in front of a rock that was most obviously out of place in this mountain.

It was a large, log-shaped meteorite – arcanium – home of the medallion. The rock was rounded on one end, but the other end was perfectly flat. In the center of that side was a cutout shape of the medallion. Here, Mao'Khim manufactured the artifact that boggled the world for the next two thousand years. It was an artifact of his life, of course. The branch, made of unimportant stone symbolized his birth. The staff, made of a more precious bronze, represented his initiation into priesthood. The sword, made of the rare metal silver, stood for his final rank in the society – a legend. Here, somewhere on this mountain, Mao'Khim met God. Aramand followed the directions correctly, without a doubt. He did not rush to place the medallion into its home, however. It took him too long of a time to journey here to simply stick the thing in. No. He wanted to keep this moment, examine every rock, every rare blade of glass that sprouted here and there among the gray wasteland of the mountain. He was alone and he had all the time in the world.

Several hours passed as Aramand examined the artifact in his hand while he sat on the ground next to the meteorite. His hard seat of rock was uncomfortable, but he did not pay attention. Finally, he nodded to himself and stood up. His long, black cloak flew up in the strong wind, revealing his attire. He was dressed in simple clothes of a warrior – sturdy leather pants, a jacket of the same material with light chain mail on top. The black sash was the only noticeable sign of his status of a High Priest. Aramand gripped the medallion tightly and breathed out loudly to clear his mind and to prepare himself. He kneeled down near the meteorite and with shaking hands, placed the medallion into the slot. There was a soft clicking sound that almost made his heart stop, but the rock simply rolled over to reveal a small hole in the foot of the mountainside next to it. Steep stairs could be seen in the hole, descending into deep darkness. Aramand bravely began his descent.

It was not dark for long. The stairs ended in a matter of minutes and Aramand found himself in a large cave. Some strange form of blue ambiance filled the cave, leaving out nothing. Every portion of the cave was visible, even its most remote corners. There was not much to be seen there, however, as the cave was completely empty, except for a door on the other side of the cave that was, most likely, of truly enormous proportions. At this distance, however, it seemed to be tiny. Aramand stepped in the direction of the door and gasped in shock. The door, ten times the size of the highest building he had ever seen, loomed in front of him. His one step brought him across the entire cave. He gulped down the saliva in his mouth, nearly choking himself. Pondering how he was supposed to open a door of such size, he pushed against it to prove to himself that it was, in fact, impossible.

To his surprise, the door that felt very light and soft to the touch, gave in and swung open to reveal a room much smaller than the actual door. This room was lit with a bright orange light and was empty as well, except for… a small creature floating in the center of the room. Aramand winced as he tried to examine it. It was a young woman the size of no more than Aramand's palm with small wings that flapped steadily, but slowly and kept her in the air. She had long black hair and was completely naked, but from this distance, he could not make out any more detail of her body. A strange aura surrounded her and it took Aramand a few moments to realize what it was – the orange light did not affect her. She appeared to be of normal color. In front of the woman who strangely reminded Aramand of the fairies he had heard of in his mother's fairy tales, was a small canvas. The fairy made painting motions as she pressed her finger against it.

Suddenly, she giggled in a high and merry voice and turned to the intruder.

"So you are Aramand of Leortia," she said, giggling once more, her voice resonating softly from every wall in the room. Aramand gulped again.

"That's… me," he muttered when he finally had enough courage to talk. The fairy smiled and flew up closer to him, on the level with his eyes. He could now discern the details of her body – small, attractive breasts and the absence of a belly button that adorned every mortal he has seen in his world.

"I was expecting you," the fairy said, examining Aramand. "You took longer than I anticipated."

Aramand blinked, stupefied.

"You were expecting me?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

"Well it's about time somebody new paid me a visit," the fairy responded. Her voice was so bright and joyous that Aramand began to calm down. "You see," she continued, "Mao has been getting rather dull after a few thousand years."

"Mao?"

"Oh, I'm sure you know the old man Mao. You had to read his parchment before you got here, didn't you?"

Aramand nodded.

"Well, there you have it," the fairy stated. "That was his idea." She giggled at the thought. "He bet me a village and a deserted island that nobody would solve his riddle for at least thousand years. Should've bet more."

"A village?" Aramand was entirely confused by now.

"Oh, yes, what was its name," the fairy frowned, thinking for a minute. Finally, the frown disappeared and she giggled happily once again. "Why yes, I remember. It was Martia. Remember the legends of strange men coming from a deserted island, populating Leortia?" She waited for his confirmation and continued. "Well that was all Mao's doing. You see, I figured – he wanted a deserted island and a village, so first I made a deserted island, and then, once that part of the bargain was done, put the village on it. Saved me a lot of work, if you ask me."

Aramand opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out of his lungs, so he closed it again.

"What's the matter?" the fairy inquired, tilting her head slightly.

"Well, erm," Aramand began, hesitating.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering… Who are you?" he finally blurted out.

There was a pause as the fairy made sense of the question. Then, suddenly she burst with laughter and almost fell as a consequence. Aramand stared at her in surprise. The fairy was contorting in the air as she laughed and the room seemed to dance along with her. The orange light grew brighter and strange shadows appeared on the walls of the room. Everything around him seemed to jingle happily as the fairy laughed. Finally, when she finished and wiped off the tiny drops of tears on her cheeks, she looked at Aramand again.

"Oh my," she said merrily, shaking her head. "Mao was right yet another time. I guess I owe him another island now." Aramand continued to stare. She giggled. "I had some doubts that his riddle would work – but believing that I created beings so… naïve… that was beyond my imagination."

"I told you, Milady," said a male voice suddenly. A middle-aged man appeared out of nowhere in the room. Aramand turned to him in amazement. The man had narrow black eyes that shone like those of an innocent baby and his long blonde hair was braided into two small woven ponytails. The man was dressed in soft pajamas and a plain shirt, and simple sandals covered his feet. The fairy turned to him.

"Ah, Mao, you came to greet the visitor."

"Visitor?" the man questioned. "I was hoping he would stay with us. You know, you haven't been that amusing lately, either."

The fairy laughed.

"No, I haven't. That's okay, though. The entertainment always gets better when new ones come along."

"There were others?" Aramand asked, surprised.

"Oh, plenty," the fairy responded. "Kryll is here, Miny left for a while…"

"Rastan," the man interrupted.

"Oh, yes, and him," the fairy continued. "We've had plenty. You're just the first one to get here using help." She yawned. "Anyway. I guess I have to make that island for you now, don't I, Mao? How big do you want it?"

The man smirked. "I don't really care, Milady. Just something small for me to look at for a bit. It was a stupid bet, anyway."

"I was actually thinking of remaking the world now," she said in a serious tone. "It's ridiculous how out of hand these humans have become."

"Great idea, God," the man responded, smiling. "I was just…"

"God?!" Aramand exclaimed, interrupting the conversation. Both the woman and the man stared at him.

"Well who else do you think I am?" the woman asked, slightly annoyed. The orange light that was present throughout the room dimmed slightly.

"You are God?" he muttered. "So this is Heaven?" The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. The orange light became even dimmer and it became harder for Aramand to discern the two other shapes in the room. The woman flew around the room once and glanced at the man for a second, and then faced Aramand again.

"Heaven doesn't exist," she said, finally. Her voice was somewhat angry. "Neither does Hell. Neither does Arlamade, god of War, or Meru, god of Death. The Grand Temple is also crap, if you would pardon my language. Those are all a product of the imagination of millions of men that I've let loose upon the earth ages ago…" She paused for a second. "Now," she continued, her tone becoming soft again and the lighting in the room returning to its original brightness, "are you staying with us or not?"

-

The legends say that exactly a century before the Old World ended and the New World began, the famed Aramand the Thief suddenly appeared at the Grand Temple. He walked into the Priest's room and sliced his own throat right in front of the old monk. The guards that ran into the room only seconds later searched his body for Mao'Khim's parchment and medallion, but all in vain. Later, they found a different parchment in his bag, rolled up and tied with a string. They opened it eagerly, but saw only…a fairy. That was it. A fairy drawn carefully in black ink upon a small piece of parchment.