A single human child stands atop a mountain. This mountain is not one that anyone would venture to climb. It is an unclimbable mountain, large and foreboding, yet the child stands triumphantly on top of this large and unclimbable mountain.

This mountain is not a natural mountain. It is a flattened mountain, a man-made mountain, a long dead standing mountain. It is now nothing more than a symbol of the now dead age of man. It is now little more than a beacon for those who would dare to climb it and claim it as their own.

The child is rugged and dirty. He is dressed in tattered clothing, but it is the way of him that has earned him this title, he is not 'pretty' he is no princess, no princess is ever pretty, but the way of the boy is rugged and handsome.

The boy stands on top of the mountain that was once called the Son of the Moon, now it is called the Mountain of Sacrifice. It was once a mountain of love. It was built by the very men who would now climb the mountain to deceive themselves, for it is a mountain of deception.

The exact date of this event, or at least the exact date requested by the author do not exist, nor does the exact year. They are just blocks of information, with little effort made to put them in the right order. You may, in fact, have to skip ahead, in order to find the beginning in the book of life that is told in the story of the Phoenix Reborn.

The date, when requested by the author was put in the following manner…

2,007 years before the story begins.

A tiny race of people, or rather a tiny race was born with hair the color of maple leaves. These people lived in the caves under the mountain. They were silent and knew no enemy. They lived in peace, and they loved each other.

Before them they had fought and had died for decades centuries and thousands of years. They had loved each other and had fought each other over the past. Scores of men had died, and so had many women. This tiny race knew nothing of war. They knew nothing of the need to kill, to hurt, to manipulate and to conquer.

They grew up as brothers and sisters, as mother and father, as brothers and sisters. They spent as much time as they could stealing from other people as they gathered as many eggs as they could from the small birds that lived beneath the mountain.

They loved each other, and grew as a race. Sometimes they traded food for food, but mostly they exchanged love for love. This little race had a leader. He was a strong and a wise man. His name was Greycloud.

In his days in the world of men, in the world where people fought each other in order to claim a piece of land, Greycloud saw a man in a robe with a staff in his hand. This man called himself the Overlord. He told people that he had found a land with a special tree that could give his family a special gift.

Greycloud was a simple man. He called himself a humble man, he could not even steal food from a dog as he saw others do. He would kill a man, but only from anger from a fight, or from an urge to protect his people from those who would harm them. He always protected his people from those who would seek to steal from them.

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