Chapter Text
Ossian Selwyn and the Bone Wand
"Give me a place to stand, and I shall move the world." — Archimedes
Part 1: The Unchosen One
"Character is destiny." — Heraclitus
Chapter 1: Prologue — At the Precipice of Existence
The birth cry of a God as old as time itself shook heaven and earth. At the precipice of existence, order teetered on the brink of collapse — threatening to plunge reality into a state beyond the very concept of life and death. The air trembled with possibility and peril, the raw flow of life writhing in impossible patterns. With unfathomable mercy and loss beyond reckoning, the hand of God opened in a final renunciation of power. From clawed, twisted fingers slipped an instrument of life — born from death: a wand of bone.
Its physical manifestation was a smoothly carved length of bone, ending in a haft spiraled with fine engravings. A wind of cosmic dust carried it across an ineffable expanse of space and time — an object of grandeur, terror, and hope. Past and future roiled in its wake, echoes of lives it would touch and choices it would influence. Sparks of potential danced along its shaft — each a whisper of creation, of destruction, of secrets untold.
It was neither lost nor found. The bone wand moved inexorably through the foundations of creation, guided by will and fate alike — a tiny fulcrum upon which the world would pivot. There was no telling what history it would impose or the consequences of its violent release.
As for the God who relinquished it, there was nothing left but obscurity. The hand that had shaped fate now rested empty, its fingers scarred and trembling. The currents of destiny carried on without pause or mercy for the broken God, toward the moment when the wand would meet the one to shape its purpose anew.
The bone wand drifted upon a particulate aether, drawn toward its place of waiting. Before it was obscured by the clouds of time, it spun once more, revealing that the spiral pattern along the haft was in truth tiny letters inscribed in Latin. Like axe-marks hewn into the book of destiny, they declared: Recta vi, etiam infirmi mundum movent — with the right leverage, even the weak move the world.
With the warbling toll of an ancient bell striking midnight, the Bone Wand reached its destination.