The dark storyteller held out his hand, and a mote of light formed in the space above his fingertips. Then a ribbon of black swam out of the darkness behind it and encircled it, seeming to cradle the luminous point, holding it against the darkness of the night. The stage seemed to grow dark, until only the mote of light and the ribbon of dark remained. Rory and Layla tore their attention from the show, noting that the plaza was still perfectly lit against the night, but when they looked back at the showman, the air grew dark again.
Layla leaned against Rory, “That’s a neat trick.”
“I was thinking the same,” he nodded back to her.
Hana began to speak. His accent fell away, and he took on the mein of a wise and learned sage, standing upright and enunciating each word.

“In humble villages throughout the world of Ayrgard, just like this one, mothers and grandmothers tell children the tale of the Serpent and the Tree. While scholars may condescend to such ‘peasant wisdom’, it is a story that has stubbornly persisted for centuries. The bards tell it more or less like this.”
He grinned at the crowd. “Peasant wisdom. Stuffy old men.” Children giggled, and adults chuckled throughout the crowd. His voice grew serious again, and as he spoke, words were singled out, echoed and magnified, given supernatural significance, as his tale enraptured the audience and drew them into the fabric of his story.

“Once, before Fate was written across the skies and the stars, there was a nothing that was not nothing, a fabric like water, as delicate as sea foam stretched across rice paper, an infinite ocean of everything that ever Was, Is, and Could Be, ever in motion and yet as still as the grave.
Among the ocean of was-not floated a single seed, a tiny mote of light that held all of the things that Were. Curled about the seed, floating upon the ocean of was-not, was a tiny black serpent, which held in its tiny belly all the things that Could Be. The seed’s name was Ilani, and slowly, she began to grow. She grew for many years, until her roots created a raft for the serpent to sleep upon, and he rested among her roots, and his name was Ouroboros. And the things that Could Be in his belly passed as all things do, into the waters and eventually into the earth, and as they decayed, they nourished Ilani so she could grow. As Ilani grew, so did Ouroboros, until her roots touched the floor of the ocean of was-not, and her branches caressed the blackness in the sky and fluttered in the still breezes that did not blow over the ocean’s not-waters.”

As he spoke, the mote of light slowly grew, sprouting luminescent roots growing downward, and thin, leafy branches upward. The ribbon of darkness grew along with it, circling among the roots and across the branches, swimming out into the shimmering not-waters and returning.

“Over an uncountable number of years, Ilani’s leaves fell and withered among her roots, creating rich earth, and she drank the waters of was-not, and breathed the air of the still, dark skies. And Ouroboros swam in the not-waters, finding things that lurked within their depths and DEVOURING them with his SHARP FANGS and STRONG JAWS! And so, the dark things in the depths could never hurt Ilani, for there were no jaws as strong as Ouroboros’ and no fangs as sharp. He traveled very far seeking things which to devour, so they could never hurt his beloved. He was sometimes gone for many years.”

The tree had grown to be half as large as her storyteller, and the serpent writhed out over the crowd, plunging into the imaginary waters, and then surfacing in a splash of shimmering mists. Still Hana’s voice suffused and surrounded them.

“But he always returned to the comfort of Ilani’s roots and the ever-growing soil about them. In time, Ouroboros burrowed through the earth around Ilani’s roots, to be closer to his love, and the force of his passage pushed up mountains and dug vast valleys, and it came to pass that Ilani’s branches filled the sky and her roots filled the earth, and Ouroboros curled about her, a world serpent encircling a world tree. And they were happy together.
But one day, Ilani’s branches sprouted a single flower. And that flower grew into a fruit. And when that fruit grew ripe and fell to the ground, it cracked open and a bird flew out into the sky, nestling in her branches. Over many countless years, every manner of creature sprouted and grew from Ilani’s fruits, and they mingled among themselves and flourished and multiplied.
But unlike the Tree and the Serpent, these creatures did not live forever. When their time came, and they passed from the world, Ouroboros took them into his jaws, and they joined the many things that Could Be, and one day would be again.”

A sparking red droplet fell from the trees luminous branches, splashing into the waters and bursting into a tiny phoenix, a bird of flame that flew across the waters and returned, where it roosted in the branches for a moment, until it fluttered down to the see, where the black ribbon gently consumed it.

“And Ilani called to Ouroboros and said, ‘It would be good for our children to have purpose, to know what to do with their time before they return to that which Could Be.’ Ouroboros agreed with her, for his purpose made him happy. It had been many, many years, and he had traveled very, very far, but he could not find any more things to devour.
So, Ilani had Ouroboros pierce one of her highest branches with his mighty fangs, and as her branches waved in the still breezes, the river of shining sap that flowed from her flesh dripped onto the sky and rained into the waters, and these all became things that Were, because of Ilani’s heartsblood. The Stars shone in the sky, glittering and twinkling against the black night. The heartsblood pooled and formed the five Sisters, each of which moved across the sky in turn. And the not-waters became oceans, and lakes, and rivers, and their waters were salty or sweet, and Ilani’s branches sprouted fruits that contained fish to live in the waters. Finally, Ilani had given enough heartsblood, and she asked Ouroboros to pack her wound with earth so it would cease flowing.
But while Ouroboros climbed down her branches to fetch the earth in his jaws, the heartsblood began to pool in the crook of her branches. Too much heartsblood. So much, it began to shine and burn. The too-much blood became Heleyl, the Shining Sun, and its touch burned Ouroboros’ skin and blinded his left eye, wounding him direly.”

Stars appeared like pinpricks in the curtain of night that Hana had cast over his listeners, and phantom moons rose and set in rapid succession. The sound of ocean waves, the smell of sea salt, and the flowing of rivers and sweet scents of waters pervaded the square. But then a light grew in the branches of the tree, too bright, chasing back the night. They saw the serpent, wounded, shadow bursting and bleeding from his wounds.

“So great was his wound, in fact, that his blood spilled upon the earth below Ilani’s branches. Blood that had never been spilled. He had never been wounded, even in the fights with the things beneath the not-waters. His scales were as peerless adamant, and he had eaten them all. But Ouroboros had eaten so very, very many of the things. He had eaten them, and kept them in his belly, with all the things that Could Be. And Ouroboros had continued to grow. He had grown so much since then. He had grown into a world serpent, with strong, strong jaws and sharp, sharp teeth. He had grown mighty, his belly and his blood full of things that Could Be. And his blood was upon the ground now.
Creatures grew from the blood. First tiny creatures like serpents and wyrms and hungry creatures that walked like men but were not, and Ilani marveled in awe at the darkling creatures that Could Be in Ouroboros’ blood. But Ouroboros’ wound was terrible, and from the blood that fell, things sprang up and began to gnaw at Ilani’s branches, eating her fruits and her bark and lapping up the spilled heartsblood. Though his wounds hurt very badly, Ouroboros turned his great coils in a flash like lightning, and thunder cracked from his strong jaws and sharp fangs, and he GOBBLED up the things that would DARE to touch his beloved!

The ribbon did battle with the sickly shapes scampering about the tree’s roots, turning and striking, causing the twisted shapes to burst into shadowed ruin. But many other shapes, some formed like men and folk, and some much stranger, rose from the dripping shadows and ran toward the tree’s shining roots.

“The tiny darkling creatures ran from Heleyl into the caves and tunnels below Ilani’s roots, into the dark, dark below. Not things in the way Ouroboros knew them. Things could not be beneath Ilani’s roots. Simply, creatures, like the ones Ilani grew from her fruits. Hungrier, darker, colder. But not things.
Ouroboros’ wounds hurt very badly. So, as he retreated from Heleyl’s burning light, into the safety of Ilani’s roots, he let the creatures go. He let them hide in the dark, dark places. And they remembered him. They remembered that he did not treat them as things. And they called him father, and never touched Ilani’s roots nor bit her fruit.
Heleyl burned with so much strength from all the heartsblood, he chased the stars and the Sisters from the sky, forcing them to turn their faces or flee over the horizon. His heat burned up the rest of the heartsblood, and it boiled away into fog and mist and the winds, which became things that Were and began to blow, shaking Ilani’s leaves.”

The darkness receded from the square, and the sun burned above. The crowd winced, and children clung to their parents as the merciless beating sun conjured the sensation of scorching thirst.

“Ilani mourned and cried, but it was too late. The Sun was a thing that Was, and she could not undo its creation. So, when her wound finally closed on its own, the winds and mist swirled around her and the clouds covered the sky like a blanket of storms, and she forced the Sun to hide beyond the horizon, so the stars and the Sisters could return. Ouroboros crept out from below her roots, and packed her wound with earth, and curled about her branches, whispering that it was alright, and he was not cross with her, even though his burns pained him greatly.
And thus, forevermore, Ilani and Ouroboros would be separated during the Day, because the Sun returned every morning, despite Ilani’s protests and her pleas to stay away. The winds blew, and the stars shone, and the Sisters traveled across the sky, and Fate was a thing that Was. And she could not undo what she had done.
But this is not The End of Our Tale, because within deep within Ouroboros’ belly were worlds without end and cascading infinite realities, all the many things that ever Could Be.”

As the sun receded and soothing darkness returned, the moons began to flow again, and the cool sweetness of the rivers returned. The ribbon of blackness emerged from the tree’s roots and soothed its wounds.

“Alas, this is the end of my tale, for the sun must surely chase me away in the morning as well,” Hana bowed as the projection began to dissolve into a mist of unshaped mana.
The four stood stunned as the crowd applauded, and some began to make their way forward to deposit coins in the trunk laid before the stage.

“What about you, my children? Have you anything for old Hana?”