Heritage
It is said, in Slavic myth, that the world began as a vast ocean, landless and at peace. When the sun warmed it, the evaporations swelled amidst the cloudcover, and rain would fall. The One, however, grew lonely as time progressed, with nothing but the rolling tides and cobalt sky to his company. He asked the ocean whether it wished to yield something new, but the ocean declined. He asked the sky whether it wished to yield something new, but the sky declined. When next a storm grew, he asked the tempest whether it wished to yield something new. The skies darkened as the thunderheads gathered, considering the request as air and water had not. Not an element of its own, the storm knew that it stood between the two, a bridge unique in its construction, blessed with the capacities of both.
"We will make you something new," said the tempest, "but you must know that we cannot control it. We are not air, or water, to be so easily predicted and guided." The One, however, was elated to finally be granted his wish, and he listened not to the warning.
"Make whatever you wish, and control it not. Change will do my world good." And so the storm grew, reaching out over the ocean, blacking out the sky, and for the first time since creation began lightning streaked across the heavens, illuminating all. However, a bolt went stray, striking the ocean and drawing a scream from its lowest depths. The steam rising took on the form of the One, for a few moments, before dissipating.
"What was that, which you made?" He demanded of the tempest. It knew not, however. Commanding that the storm try again, lightning once again struck the sea. For a second time, the vapor writhed into the form of a human, before the wind ripped it apart. "Again!" Insisted the One, but the storm - impatient - accidentally struck the One with the edge of the ensuing bolt. As the condensation rose, drops of his blood mingled in the spray, and this time the wind could not wipe the creation away. The ocean, angry at being so treated, reached up with a large wave and snatched the creation from the storm, drawing it deep into the belly of its waters, cooling the masculine blood into something new, the yang to the yin, remolding what had been made into something less harsh. Something beautiful, something that flowed like the waters of the ocean itself rather than hard and biting like the bolt. Furious, the storm once again struck the sea with lightning, and the electricity ran deep, penetrating the creation.
And so, the first Vila woke.