The first volley wasn't made of fire. It fell from the sky, as willed by a child.

Human consciousness was so unbearable all trench, pit and fossae filled with tears. Called them seas.

Whispers turned the world into clay, as if before spoken out loud, words could pierce reality.

Found a joyful path to escape grieve, they discovered the colorful sparks behind their eyes. They followed them.

Creatures on the land were dull, so dreamers often envisioned the ones we consider most fun.

To wish became to shape, and the rules of the world became incongruent, natural, delightfully mysterious.

Each generation built upon the rules of wishing to fight the dread of everchange. Speak through a wall, not so loud, speak when we say.

Whenever a dreamer would light a chalice, they'd sense echoes from decades past, as wished by the Third Mentor.

Such vivid imagination was a waste if unable to cross over minds. They wished for a way to pour ideas out.

Many devoted themselves to the mystery of the falling star. Was there a higher force veiling for the ritual? Why would cheaters be burned out of memory?

Thousands let their hair grow. Infinite lines behind the wall by the decade's end, feeding a flame burdened with the weight of the world.

The last dreamer would return 10 years later, long braid in tow, and asked her successor to make wishing as charming as it was demanding.

A dreamer said dreamers should be enshrined. A dreamer made shrines withstand time. A dreamer wanted to be forgotten. A dreamer saw beauty in decay.

A dreamer decided dreamers shouldn't be able to wish. No one has wished for dreamers to wish since then.

With ten of them, silence felt endless. Wished to become a hundred, a thousand, a billion. The world stretched and reshaped. Bound by magic, the earth will never outgrow them.

Vast shifts occur through seemingly insignificant wishes. Sky changed colors dozens of times, fate unfazed. One man asked to harness lightning, fate erupted.

As the wise Seventh Mentor said, wishing will never shatter reality. The piling of rules will lead to immobility. One day, the last wish will be made, and the cosmos will be complete.

Though some heartbroken townsfolk have tried to extinguish love, each generation finds a new name and a new way to share that throbbing spark born of treasured company.

The fallen star learned how her gift made everyone miserable. Only upon imposing a barrier and punishment did humans enjoy the boon.

Since the Tenth Mentor decided to kill their Dreamer, all humans are born with a fractured soul, with anger seeping through the cracks.

A dreamer once made the world round just to win an argument.

Once upon a time, a thief tried to steal the stars from the surface of the sea. To honor their naivety, fishermen sail before the training ground, trying to catch some for them.

A lazy fisherman once wished for fish to jump onto his boat of their own volition. He sank.

Since immemorial times, Dreamers have had premonitory dreams about the wishes they grant. Once, a villager asked to visit those dreams. The feedback loop destroyed them both.

After many accidents and mischief, a compassionate dreamer spared all mentors of the flame's bite. The fire from the star will only burn chalices.

Someone wished the moon away but forgot to erase the noun. When anyone looks at the sky, they know the night is moonless, yet fail to conjure what the moon was.

Once, a dreamer had a lie braid into her slingshot. When her flame crossed the night sky, fiction infected the stars—constellations were born.

The Thirteenth Mentor sneaked behind the confession wall and asked to be turned into a star, to guide the hand of all future dreamers. She's enjoyed your dreams so much. She says thank you and good luck.

The dreamer lit every chalice on the archipelago, including the three boats. Even with that, her hand would tremble during Ceremony night.