Smoke from the coiled incense filled the room, softening the appearance of anything not already draped in shadow. A breeze from the opened door sent the light from the candles filling the space flickering across every surface. From the dark secluded nook in the back, a pale woman robed in black glared at this intrusion to her solitude.

"Oh, here you are!" Came the cheery voice of the intruder, a seemingly young girl in incongruously bright attire, "My my, but you certainly living up to your aesthetic, aren't you, Ravenas?"

"I could say the same of you, Frenchling," Ravenas replied with a barely contained roll of her eyes.

Ignoring the salt cast her way, Frenchling gave a little twirl to better show off her outfit: a Lolita style dress in a riot of pastel shades, bedecked with crystal charms that chimed with her every movement, "Cute, isn't it? But you didn't call me here to compare fashion, now did you?"

"Indeed not," Ravenas said, gesturing to the seat across the table from her, "Something far less pleasant holds my attention at the moment."

Flouncing into the offered seat, Frenchling asked, "So what has you in a darker funk than normal?"

Swiping her hand across the table, Ravenas spread a tarot deck before her, face down. From the centre of the spread she pulled a single card, flipping it upright. Looking down, Frenchling could see it depicted a decrepit man, sunken eyed and gaunt, below which were the words, "THE DEVIL".

"The unrelenting warden of Reality has his sights set on my coven and I," Ravenas explained.

"Oh. Him." Frenchling grumbled, making a face, "He's so distasteful!"

Ravenas gave a low laugh at that, saying, "Be thankful you are not under his purview."

"Yet!" Frenchling countered, "But the time grows ever closer for my counterpart in that accursed realm to enter his panopticon. I would rather that not happen!"

Ravenas pulled another card. This one showed a group of people, armed with fantastical weapons and wreathed in power, below which was written, "STRENGTH".

"What we need is for someone to take care of the warden for us," she explained, "That would save us both the displeasure of his attention."

"An army to do your dirty work for you? Wherever will you find such a willing host?" Frenchling smirked.

Another card was pulled, this one showing an island resplendent with natural beauty, labelled, "THE WORLD".

"We use a bit of subterfuge, a bit of witchcraft, and create a paradise worth fighting for. One that will draw in those both irresistible to the warden, and strong enough to overthrow him." Ravenas told the younger girl.

"Ah, and this is where you need me, isn't it?" Frenchling reasoned, a slow smile creeping across her face, "You need this paradise built."

"Indeed," Ravenas conceded, "While I have an ideal location in mind, my coven and I lack the ability to create that which we require. I had hoped that it would be in your wheelhouse, or if not, you would be able to point us in the direction of someone - or someones - who could provide the service we need."

Frenchling gave a merry little laugh and, without looking, flipped over one of the cards.

"I can't give you your paradise, but I know who can!"

Glancing down at the card, Ravenas saw a young man (or perhaps it was a boy?) dressed in an elaborate, royal blue Edwardian suit and seated upon a plush velvet throne. Perched jauntily upon his head was a golden crown, and written below him:

"THE EMPEROR"

Rain pounded against the windows, but it did nothing to drown out the sounds of the nightlife outside. Despite the weather, a festival was lighting up the street, filling the air with the sounds of merriment.

For the resident of the dour mansion overlooking it all, it was an ire-inducing cacophony.

"Just your luck, my poor, miserable brother," Frenchling crooned from where she sat, daintily sipping her tea, "That despite your presence, this town is still so jubilant!"

"It sends the needle of my PISS-O-METRE careening directly into WRATH!" Her brother seethed.

Suppressing a smile behind her teacup, Frenchling continued, "Honestly, I don't understand why you keep setting up residence in populated areas when you hate people so very much. You need a change of scenery, oh brother mine."

He turned around so sharply that he nearly dislodged his crown, glaring daggers at his sister, snapping, "And I suppose you have a suggestion?!"

"A deserted island, of course," Frenchling said, rising from her seat, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt (for her brother would never allow dust to be found in his abode), "Far, far away from any of this noise and filth."

Her brother frowned thoughtfully. Of late, the stresses of living near others had been taking its toll upon his delicate psyche. A deserted island, and the peace it would entail, did sound alluring. But ever as always, the negative outlook of the fellow took hold of him.

"No, that wouldn't do," He said dismissively, "There would be no guarantee that such a place would be deserted. There could be noisome beasts, or a secret police force that would sneak into my domicile at all hours of the night and plant thoughts in my mind, and dirt upon my floor!"

"Not if you built the island yourself, out in the virgin depths!" Frenchling cajoled, "Come now, brother, I know you can do it!"

"And where would I even find an unspoiled location, hm?" He sneered, crossing his arms impudently.

A grin spread across Frenchling's face - the smile of a hunter as they watched their prey fall directly into their trap.

"Why brother, I know just the place!"

Grey.

The sullen grey of ripe storm clouds before they discharged their deluge.

The fathomless grey of the choppy sea, stirred to a fervour by the frigid winds.

Dark, dreary, dismal.

To the melancholy monarch, it was perfect.

"I suppose this spot is adequate." He begrudgingly admitted from his seat upon a luxurious flying carpet.

"Isn't it just!" Frenchling agreed as she wheeled around him on her flying penny-farthing, "Time to work your magic!"

"I WILL DO SO WHEN I AM GOOD AND READY!" Her brother snapped, conjuring a tea set from the aether before taking an angry sip and proceeding to pout.

While she waited out her brother's silent temper tantrum, Frenchling idly circled around him in the air, now and again ringing the small bell on the handlebars of her bicycle.

Eventually his fit of pique faded, and with a wave of his hand he sent his tea set back to wherever it came from.

"Now!" He announced with a little clap. Standing up in a ready pose, he executed a perfect swan dive off of the carpet, slipping into the waves below without even a splash.

Frenchling watched as the sea began to froth and boil, swirling into a violent maelstrom. It began to stretch wider and wider, reaching deeper into the depths. With the waves roaring like some tormented demon in pain, a barren land mass began to emerge.

Slowly, ever so slowly, an island began to rise.

As this virgin earth crested the waves, Frenchling twirled her fingers, and a pretty pink flower appeared in her hand. Facing west, she blew upon the flower, sending the petals dancing to the horizon.

Below her, the sea began to settle around the new intrusion around it, and Frenchling made her descent.

She found her brother on the shore of a newly formed bay, staring out into the little cove.

"This will make an ideal spot for a home," he said as she drew near, "Right there, in fact."

She followed the line of his finger to where it pointed out into the bay, and watched as the waters bubbled briefly as a Gothic-style dome partially emerged from below the waves. The sand at their feet began to rise, shaping itself into a crypt-like archway leading down.

"Marvellous," the lad sighed in as close to happiness as he ever came, "Exactly what I needed!"

Turning around to better view the island of her brother's creation, Frenchling was greeted by the sight of rolling fields beyond the beach, craggy mountains to the north, a storm brewing in the desolate east, and to the west a stretch of land that would be perfect for a forest.

On the bare, willowy trees ringing the shore, a murder of crows alighted, squawking happily, while in the bay a pod of belugas began their mournful dirge.

"You've certainly outdone yourself, brother," Frenchling admitted, "Have you a name for your little slice of heaven?"

Placing a finger upon his chin in thought, her brother stared out at the sea before him, eventually saying, "The Silent Island."

Upon hearing their voices, the crows grew louder.

"Of Crow," he amended, "The Silent Island of Crow."

"And I suppose you are to take on a new moniker yourself, then?" Frenchling prompted.

Her brother scoffed, flicking the crown on his head so it gave off a musical chime, saying, "Why, I am to be the Emperor of Belugas, of course!" With a gesture out to the pod of pure white whales making their stately way through the bay.

"But if you will excuse me, all this activity has sapped me of my energy," the Emperor Beluga said with a dismissive gesture to his sister, "So I will be taking my afternoon siesta. Adieu!"

And with that, he descended through the entrance of his underwater dwelling.

Rolling her eyes, Frenchling alighted once again onto her penny-farthing, making for the interior of the newly christened Silent Island of Crow.

She didn't have long to wait before a black-robed woman appeared in a sudden swirl of smoke. Looking around, a smile graced the woman's lips.

"It's a bit rough," Ravenas mused, "But there is most definitely room to grow."

"And room for more," Frenchling said, ringing her bicycle bell once more, "But however will you get them here?"

"The spell for that is simple enough," Ravenas said as she knelt on the ground, her dark robes billowing out around her. Sinking her fingers into the fresh soil, her eyes began to glow purple, words of magic pouring from her lips like a fog as runes etched themselves into the ground below. The runes began to glow brighter and brighter, from aubergine to lavender to a piercing white, before, with a pulse like a heartbeat, they faded away to nothing.

"There," Ravenas said as she rose, brushing dirt from her hands, "This land now calls to those who would see to the end of the hated warden."

Glancing around once more across the newly created land, Frenchling felt the negativity of the Emperor seeping into her being as she asked, "Will they actually come?"

Tipping her head back and closing her eyes, Ravenas whispered a spell under her breath, calling upon the vision that led her to this place.

All Frenchling bore witness to was Ravenas' eyes snapping open, violet light rising from them like steam, but Ravenas saw so much more.

The warden, DEVIL, servant to something so much darker than anyone realized. His profession as someone who turned people into cogs was a convenient cover for his true role. A slayer. A destroyer. The herald for the final harvest. An envoy for the denizens of the realm held in check behind the shadowed gateway. Those who would bring about the last battle at the end of all things. Only two possible outcomes: freedom or annihilation. The fate of all would depend on a few. And those few would rise, shepherded and shielded by those who would call this place home.

"They will," was Ravenas' reply, the light of prophecy lifting from her eyes, "And the warden's days grow ever shorter."

Several days later, the Emperor was taking a leisurely stroll across the Island, listening to the chirps and calls of birds and other inoffensive creatures that had made this land their home. Racket though it was, it was preferable to the hustle and bustle of the cities that had been his most recent haunts.

Here, there was nothing but the wildlife, and if it weren't for that, he would be entirely and utterly alone.

The novelty of that was quickly wearing off.

"Well, would I not be myself if I were not depressed in some regard?" The Emperor said aloud to the birds in the trees, "Sadness I may revel in, but I fear loneliness has lost its lustre."

As if in answer to him, the crows in the trees along the path suddenly all took flight, winging their way down towards the beach. Frowning, the Emperor followed after them.

When he reached the shore, he found it littered with debris - planking and pieces from a wooden ship, as far as he could tell. Even to his untrained eye, he could see the signs of fire damage marring every bit of wreckage he came across.

"Pirates, perhaps?" He mused, before a devilish grin spread across his features, "Mayhaps their treasure has washed ashore as well!"

Before he could begin his search for booty, a single, sharp caw startled him. There, perched upon a piece of the wreckage, was a large crow, looking at him expectantly. The bird watched with dark, keen eyes as the Emperor drew near, before dipping its head to gesture down at some kind of flotsam caught on the charred planking.

Not just any flotsam - it was a body.

Slipping an elegant pair of gloves on, the Emperor stooped briefly to pick up a stick before advancing upon the body.

"Perhaps I shall give taxidermy a try?" He mused as he gave the corpse an experimental poke.

But at his incessant prodding, the corpse began to stir. With a cry of, "Egads! A zombie!" the Emperor held out the stick like a fencing rapier.

The figure before him pushed itself into a seated position, brushing long, dark brown hair out of its face. He saw that the corpse was actually an alive young woman (though her skin was death-like in its pallor).

The woman looked around in confusion, before her dark green eyes settled on the one who had so rudely awoken her.

She spoke, her voice rough from who knew how many dry days clinging to that wreckage, and asked, "Where the hell am I?"

Now that his life was no longer threatened by the undead, the Emperor's bravado returned. Tossing aside his stick, he gave an elegant bow, telling the newcomer, "I am the Emperor Beluga, and you are on the Silent Island of Crow!"

The Beginning