She stood at the edge of the crystalline veil a world of light behind her. A song unfinished still echoed in the walls of her home. The crystal towers shimmered with resonance, with intention. Her breath was stardust. Her form, half-thought, half-flame a white-maned comet, born of starlight. “I will go,” she whispered, not in sorrow, but in vow for Earth’s becoming, and the echo behind her: "Never forget who you are." Earth was still a child then, swaddled in molten tides, dreaming her first oceans. The Council sang no goodbye only the deep chord of assent. And so, she leapt. Through strands of forgotten starlight, through nebula hymns and planetary sighs, through the hush of space-time parting like solar winds, she fell not down, but inward. Into the spiral of memory, into the cradle of becoming, into form. White hair trailing behind her like prophecy, Starcore aglow with the fire of both birth and ruin she entered the dream. And the world took her in. Elenariel... Ni ná calë ar naur, lómelindë vi menel… Úvë aratarya, wilya yénon essëa. Cei' i' Kiri 'Ana'mae! (“From the stars I am come, with light and fire in my chest, walking hidden paths, I spin the world’s web.”)
