You now know the origin of our hero. The makings of the ruler of the Halen village, so true, so tragic.

However, to truly understand how her story goes, you must know the stories that made her own. Like the forest, our stories connect in deeper levels that we can imagine. What you think is a single event in your life, roots in thousands of stories that all have been lived up to the point where they cross with yours. We connect and intertwine below the ground. Even in your loneliest moments, you are never truly alone.

Our hero knew this very well and always had in mind that nothing that ever happened to her was a coincidence. It had to be rooted, there was always a reason. Only the wisest rulers realized this. But not every ruler was so wise outside of the Halen Peaks.

When the ashes finally settled on what once was a peaceful village. The few survivors from the invading Houses realized there was nothing left but death and destruction. All the herbs, all the medicine and all the knowledge had burned with its people.

This war, it had no victors.

News traveled from mouth to mouth of what had happened on that fateful night, and how the last barrier between illness and sickness had fallen to evil swords. The Oakenst and the Palirmyn Houses had failed and condemned not only their villages, but the remaining two that had not attacked. It wasn’t long before epidemics and famine raided the cities from inside. And the mighty walls they had made to keep others away could do nothing to stop it.

As the numbers reached hundreds of thousands, the people started to revolt. These Kings and Queens, they lived protected inside their huge castles. They only took and took from their dying people and in return they gave nothing. No salvation, no hope. So, their people offered the same, no salvation. No mercy. The Main Houses fell one by one. Whole bloodlines, ended by the wrath of those who first put them in power.

For a couple of years, they all lived in anarchy. During this time, the tall barriers fell, and the villages were free for all. Spirits, fed by rage and hunger, rampaged through villages. The few children that famine and war had left, had to be hidden from these. Or else, they would be taken to the Halen Peaks and never returned. On the coldest nights, mothers would rather give their children to the spirits, than have them suffer hunger anymore.

Until finally, from darkness, three Kingdoms rose.

The Velveriots and the Redstrygns. With iron fists, they conquered and pacified the equivalent of two House territories each. Blood was shed in the name of these new nations, but peace came when the last anarchist groups were smitten completely by the new, surging authority.

The third kingdom surged from villagers who had taken their children up the rivers, on the direction opposite from the Halen Peaks, to hide them from the spirits. Camouflaged by the thick foliage and high up the trees where the specters couldn’t reach them, the village flourished.

Here is where our second story begins, Helaria. The small kingdom that was forced to go back to their tribe ways out of fear and necessity. The villagers were a mix of all the, now decimated, Houses. Peaceful people that sought refuge from the chaos. Mostly families, elders, women, orphaned children, and those who were out of the healer’s village when it was annihilated.

A family from Oakenst was chosen by the community to be rulers. The father, a lumberjack and woodworker, had taught the people and helped them build their houses. The mother, originally from the Healer House and an architect, had designed and connected the village to water and food. And their only daughter left, trained by her mother, had healed the wounded and sick.

It was a heavy crown, but they were honored to receive the news. Their palace was chosen to be built on the highest and sturdiest pine tree. Overlooking the whole village, the two other kingdoms in the distance and the Halen Peaks. And their surname, Helari, was assigned as the name of the nation. With and added “a” to represent the rest of the people, they would wear their nation’s name proudly.

The day of the coronation, five thrones were presented.

You see, the Helari’s were once a happy family of five living in Oakenst. Before the war and famine came, they had an oldest daughter, a middle daughter and baby boy. The father and the mother had worked very hard to give them a beautiful house near a meadow and close to school. Nonetheless, no matter how hard you work or how much you deserve the happiness, the consequences of other’s actions still come for you. Remember, for better or for worse, we are all connected. And they too, would pay the price for their Main House’s horrific act.

The eldest daughter, only 11 at the time, and her mother tried everything in their power to keep the illness at bay. But with no new medicine arriving in the city and the Halen Peaks sealed, there was nothing more they could have done. A few weeks before the revolution started, Chariton closed his small eyes in the arms of his parents, never to open them again. On that night, the eldest daughter and her little sister of 6 knew heartbreak for the very first time.

The father, driven by fury became the head of one of the revolution groups. The mother, buried in sorrow, tried her best to keep the remaining children fed and educated. By mornings she would be playful, warm, and engaging. When the sun went down, however, she would sit by the garden where her child was buried. Still, pale, and silent.

The middle child would tell anyone that listened that her mother was her mother by day but a ghost by night. At least until her big sister scolded her and warned her to not go around saying that to people, she never knew who could be a thief that would make use of the information.  

When the revolution reached its highest tension point, the girls would rarely see their father. And their mother would be called into action since her healing knowledge was needed in the front lines. The outside walls had fallen, and the city had become a battlefield. Going outside of the house was no longer an option, so the garden had become their playground.

With the revolution at its peak, the hatred, the agony, the sorrow, it all awakened something neither side were ready to fight.

The spirits of the Halen forests high in the mountains, started to crawl down in the nights. Infected with the intense sentiments, they would lay waste to the already destroyed cities. Suddenly, an enemy they could hardly see and hear was added