by Ava D. Dohn
“Can a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of a planet eventually lead to a typhoon on the other?” Questions such as these are often thrown out by armchair philosophers when they cannot think of logical responses to reasonable questions. Still, is it not true that very small, miniscule causes often, in time, produce astronomical effects?
No better example of this can be found than the union of two very tiny cells that join to create a new life. From one fertilized egg no bigger than the head of a pin have come all the great orators, poets and leaders known to our universes. In their turn, the worlds of men have been changed for better or worse.
On a warm summer evening, while balmy breezes drifted in from the sea and the gentle glow of a waxing moon filtered down through tamarisk trees, a young maiden offered her love to her strong, handsome beau. Their passionate embrace was not unlike that shared by countless other lovers throughout the lives of men, and with similar outcome.
Above the clouds and beyond the sky, watchful eyes waited to see if their many centuries of effort and labor were soon to be rewarded. For thousands of years they had played in the genome pool of this race to create the perfect warrior priestess, one who would share a throne to rule a universe.
For generations, fingers had busied themselves weaving the web of life in the bellies of countless mothers by gathering the desired threads from countless fathers until satisfied with the finished blend. Faces smiled with pleasure at the results accomplished. But other faces took no delight in the little child.
Given a name belonging to the gods by her father and mentored in the new religion of her uncle, the Forces of Darkness swore revenge for such disrespect. They skulked in the other world, waiting the day when their enemies wearied of protecting the girl. At last, such a time arrived.
I start this account back in that day and hour when, for but a moment, the demon forces thought the battle was theirs. In an age of empires and gods, of gladiators and prophets, the flap of tiny wings against the tempest of madmen began a storm that would one day bring down Satan’s entire house, beginning with Legion, his chief lieutenant.
No one person can start a firestorm of the proportions witnessed at the end of the last age. Yet, the collective spirit of persons like this child proved to become an unstoppable force, eventually crushing a superior enemy before he could cover the universe in eternal gloom and destruction. The history of Heaven’s War does not, then, belong to one hero. As you will see, all who fought in it are heroes.
It was the beating of countless wings, through death and sacrifice, that has delivered us to this Fourth Age, the age of rebirth.
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