-AMONG THE DISTANCE-

Gather around, kin, gather round the fire's fading coals as I tell the story of a man who reached into the divine, at such great cost. A tale of great change, and worldly aches. Of great distances between truth: that we see with our eyes, and that which we do not.

Prologue: A Reflection of Obsidian

Of a time long past icemelt, when stars’ glow lit the brine of wet reeds, and the land sang with mysteries and beliefs, a star slept. Born not of our time, nor alien to our ways, it left a scar upon the soil — a pit the locals would come to call "Keshelemak."

Ursaidh’s will flowed along the rivers, carried forth in the paddles and oars of those following, planting seeds of dominion along waters winding like his own bloodlines. Planting seeds of dominion, his woolen hood was as different as the men he would unite.

Our warrior-son of this story, was heir to those winding waters, walking the rivers of distant land, opening too his palms to the gifts swapped from other men, and their men's babes. He carried his father’s call in his marrow: "go forth, seek beyond clan walls, weave past the unknown."
In that openness, he planted his own seed — but seeds do not always grow as we wish.

Now, in a dim stone hollow damp as one's breath, Gavreck rocked forth, his core shaken. He remembered his people gathered, cloaks woven with spirals, faces obscured by moonlight, eyes burning in Ursaidh’s dream. Yet Gavreck bore their hopes like a stone upon his spine, heavier than any before or after. They saw new lands; he would forge their law. The more he carried, the more Ursaidh’s words cut—a trickle turned torrent, bitter with blood, too deep to cross.

He clutched an obsidian mirror, braided hair falling over eyes hollow as dried riverbeds. A hunger clawed his ribs, older than stone, born where a star scarred the earth long before. Whispers spoke of many places, but this cove was born Sewanhacky—land formed on trailing dust, where a fallen star hummed, worshipped by those who chant for its power.
“Ursaidh…” His voice broke, splitting the rock.

Gavreck faced obsidian sheen, a carved stone. Ever dark and deep, 'twas gifted from tribes his father Ursaidh bound in his way, to follow by demonstration. His reflection— yet, Ursaidh’s shadow—stared back. "Importation, barriers, reason," he spat, voice thick with sorrow. "What good are your commonalities, now… but the spark to find this land?" He gripped the mirror, fated to shatter all, chasing Sewanhacky’s star-scarred glory.

“My eyes,” he muttered. “My eyes are pools… carved out in what I’ve done.”
Ursaidh… 
"I love you always. But what you gave me… it becomes… no… it is an oath I cannot break. Forgive me for carrying it past your own horizons."

His breath hitched. He clamped his teeth, biting back the thing pressing inward.

“I was to carry you all beyond my own world… carve my father’s shape into new soil, not… not grind others' gods into the dust, not build altars from their blood. But I did. By my hand.”

A tremor passed across his tear-stricken face. He glared down the mirror to his forehead, voice trilling low and uneven.

“Their chants are alive no more. This empty feeling… It's only this — only this. Gnawing, licking in my marrow. I am now its vessel. It wants my grief. My fury. And I —”

He stopped. The mirror caught his eyes, wide and empty.

“Forgive me… For, now… I truly do want it!”

The mirror rose above his head. His arms trembled, then steadied — a war-chief’s arms, strong, resolute, and in the grip of shadows.

He slammed it down. His carpus loosed its metal guild.

The shatter cracked unnaturally, sent as more than splintering bones. Cries that mocked with wild laughter, joined by the clang of his torc. He fell backward, damp, heaving.

His tongue beyond this was smothered, what was said as older, vast — and ever-sent, ever-rising… the darkest echoes of many beasts that once crawled and soared.

The cry of anima. Loud, high, and way of this land, long past. Today, it's now inside us.

He stood above the shards, slack, and with eyes unmoored. For an instant, he looked as though he might call out again. And, now, instead, he listened. Ever-now expectant.
A laughter comes up, but it is no longer his.

In one eye, the bright gleam of a new earth-wall beginning could be honored.
While, in the other, were all reflections of those who can never forgive.

Chapter 1: Among their Trust

At the dawn of his quest — driven by collective yearning — Gavreck’s band moved inland, their canoes gliding along murky rivers. Every stroke shared their bound resolve, yet carried silent fears. Once from a group of soldiers commanded by tongue, they split deliberately, casting away moral traditions, driven in new thirsts for more. The journey was harsh, months of paddling and portage, losses etched in their silence. Canoes, carved for swift passage, held river memory. They carried spears for fish and game, a few pelts for warmth, and little else—some unattached iron too heavy for their needs. Along their windings, they met river folk—tribes once wanderers too, some settled too—they who saw Ursaidh’s mark in Gavreck’s eyes and offered aid, some were just happy to share a trinket or two. Some taught them to string bows of hickory, their hands a guiding kin, bonds forged inside a father’s old words, pushing them toward Sewanhacky.

“We’ll claim this land of ours,” Gavreck declared one dawn, his voice lifting spirit. “To raise a fortress, an earth-wall, so it will stand strong as do we.”

Ursaidh could not see his son now, for his own path had ended. In the chill of dusk, their doubts settle like an unending haze.

Had they scorned their elders’ truths, while those elders missed their shifting hearts? Cultures fade collective, the dust of stories. Their struggle was for any meaning as ever. A gusty breath shuddered in Gavreck’s sky.

The time would come. The routines were procedure now in the survival of the migration. Terrible, set to cure in his father's road, at warre with purpose itself. The losses were gathering on our collective. But finally, a shining beacon to the ordeal was now in sight, and the wills of menace, also encroached on this water…

Dense foliage, rich soil marked this shoreline, promising respite ahead from the harsh journey undertaken. Despite their weariness, Gavreck's sizeable remainder knew this was their new home as the canopied coastline of Sewanhacky came into view. Finally, all rumors of these fertile lands were true.

Yet, as they approached larger mounds of clay mush at Sewanhacky's trails, they encountered a grim sight. Driftwood and bodies littered the half-sunken ravines, a gravely testament of its past. It was clear that others had attempted to reach Sewanhacky before them, and no one there was in a welcoming mood. The local tribes fiercely protected an artifact of worship and allowed no outsiders to set foot on the mores of this beach's persona. Time almost stood still, at least for Gavreck's band.

Gavreck trembled, desperate to know this was not the end. Not after so far, coming here. His path was falling away from his very feet, much like the land he stood on, drifting. 
An island of separation. Between he, his band, and most-especially these shore locals. Gavreck, undeterred, signaled for his crew to disembark in less hostile sands.

Their eyes met, jagged like flint. Folk who guarded the Earth scar. Ursaidh, his father’s name, had carried on traders’ tales across crooked river. Glares, at first, softened—vows that had once bound tribes in shadowed lands. Gavreck raised his voice, drumming his dreams to earth-wall raised as one, and spoke of fire shared. The sky burned on yet, for his words, meant to bridge the distance between hearts, broke like a straw in storm. The locals stood apart, unmoved. He was a stranger, and he was here for the stone.

Heed, the Sewanhacky folk gripped spears hewn from whalebone, poised, ever-ready for their strike! Their feet bound, spoke to their stone—Keshelamak, the star’s bone. Its whisper had curled through us, within us, like branches. They yielded it not either to Gavreck’s honeyed tongue nor his father’s shade. A forever-so unyielding solidarity.

The old tales had sung by firelight across these shores, warned that its almighty gifts could rend a warrior’s soul lost. To them, the shard was no stone, but people. A voice to awaken their blood. And so, it birthed new strength: claws, feather, scales... beast-kin. 

But now, the peace, the dialogue was gone. His words fell on deaf ears. Sewanhacky stood strong, resolute. They would die gladly in its defense, than ever surrender its words.

Angry, confused faces of all sizes and colors dotted this hill. A decent 30 or so, but what number truly counts here? Rough, pointed bones adorned several pikes, picks, and staves. Gavreck signaled his crew, his heart heavy for their safety, and faced the group singly, stepping toward them, as stern eyes stared him down. Was it suicide, or destiny? For sure, these shoreline folk would yield only to a force stronger than their own.

And, now, he was out of options. Ursaidh's legacy was finally as so, within this warrior.

Chapter 2: The Transformation of a Long Culture

A clash of cultures and man's struggle for survival unfurled on the banks of Sewanhacky, with Gavreck alone facing indigenous inhabitants in small-scale skirmishes. Spears and implements were wielded with primal ferocity, air filling with tension and uncertainty with both sides vying for control. The shouted warning was clear and just—no crime was committed in his mind, but he was blind to the true cost of what was coming, caught within this storm of tribal assertion.

In the midst of this chaos, like a ghost over him, not his own judge of character, far away from his own father's principles, Gavreck was simply no longer himself. Veracity itself lain beneath him, unmatched, and the words of his othered were now unheeded. He glared brightly now with a menacing, almost palpable aura.

To walk in the remains of the bodies, he gathered the remainder of his Helvetians. His zealous efforts to create a new progressive land, were marred by the tempt of power and rule. Gavreck's once-small group had enslaved the island's people, even so far as executing those who resisted. The earth-wound, that had which once remained neutral in presence within Gavreck's heart, was now intimately, and abhorrently familiar with violence.

Under Gavreck's leadership, Sewanhacky underwent transformation, shaped by the imposition of new laws and a sense of order brought forth by these who settled. The once untamed wilderness now bore the mark of human influence, with clearings in the dense forests and signs of civility springing to root where cold emptiness now wafted. All marked by chains and commands, those of the Metoac were vilified by an unquestioning people who only understood rules of engagement.

Chapter 3: The Ancestrion Rises

As the settlers toiled to etch their presence upon this bountiful rock, Gavreck's fervor, driven by an insatiable hunger for dominion, began to mold Sewanhacky into a new visage: Long Island. The harshness of their journey and the challenges faced along the way were met with a landscape offering respite and sustenance, in lurid spite of those seeking to tame it. The villagers mined, their caves now mere tools in the service of Gavreck's desires… seeking something. A long-lost brethren, so too would they forever change man's right.

Ancient forces, stirred now by mortal desires… and desperation. A great transformation would befall the Earth, its time drawing near, nearer still, until here on this day of reckoning, so then known only to its final orators.
Within these caves, a marvel of nature still baffling scholars, lay the essence of that which split the world, entwined inside the collective group of men since their arrival after the last glacial maximum. Another son's folly.

Digging deep into the ore, his iron struck, bleeding a pale light — a shimmer older than ocean, every dream, the eel of madness. In that moment, he inadvertently unleashed seeds of this sky-wanderer from the rock—an essence that had long awaited its moment to bring forth New Life, to shape select green, the four feet into they who spoke with two — into not Us, but Beside Us — a light essence granted certain individuals to combat talents once believed impossible, igniting them in a glow so profound and terrible: un-light. To scholars, this star essence would come to be known as the "Ancestrion", a name steeped in awe and wonders both.

Chapter 4: From Another Far, Not of this Land

Froggou, whose breath first curled beyond the veil of stars, whose mind echoes where no sun dares to wander… living beyond hunger, full through its own skies, a mind commanding only itself. Past our word, past our script, perhaps also past our beginning. It finds us. Can purpose itself be borne in survival? As Gavreck wielded its power to carve out his dominion to Long Island, he was both master and servant, a tale standing far beyond comprehension.

Underneath the center of these divined caves lay a long-settled concentration of mystic forces—glowing, swift, fleeting. Gavreck thought the air gathering no more than imbued dust as it centered, and vanished almost instant in a dull, spiral beam. Gavreck nary caught this new truth.

It worms through the cracks. It slides beyond the ore.
A new spark arose to the skies…

 …as were the vitriols upon Gavreck's ragged soul. Though still revered as their leader, he sensed a distance from his peers—mock deification for actions they questioned not. Yet none believed his words of what had truly transpired beneath those caverns, their minds content to bury the unimaginable.

So what then, is a spark, if not both wounding and promising? Whom belongs the hand that fans it? Do we carve worlds, or are we echoes of another’s marrow? Gavreck could not ask. So, perhaps we must — before we carry ancestors into our own star, and our star swallows us from within.

Chapter 5: Worlds Apart

The fracture of its essence merged with Earth's sky, sparking the rise of beastkin, while Froggou lived on to claim dominion within its creation. Gavreck and his group, then known as the Mining Kings, distanced themselves from him as the truth of the Ancestrion's destruction faded into oral hushes, with only a few true witnesses none shall believe. With no further remainder of his faith, Gavreck’s final act was to grant nude amnesty on the land, and so his mudbrick fort’s walls were built, expanded by others, soon then into stoned legacy.

Lo, some events drown in pools of time, remaining unknown to any eye—neither this generation's nor the next. Their truths burst to dust, swept by winds of life, and lay still unto the void of oblivion between epochs.

Chapter 6: Descendance of that Which Was

Today, Fight Palace Haven is a nudist resort, its borders stained in echoes to Froggou's influence, which twisted the land and commanded Gavreck's rule centuries ago. Beneath the superficial revelry, the island hides a dark history—one built on sacrifice and power, where Froggou's victims still linger in the whispers of the wind. The true history remains buried, known only to those who dare to seek its deeper truths.

ToonPimp, a Bunnicula born of Gavreck's lineage and a rabbit Furry mother, stands as both heir and usurper of this fractured legacy. Profiting from ventures in cannabis production, remote management, and other clandestine proclivities, he funds, even competing in the Fight Palace tournament, turning a place of ancient suffering into a commercial spectacle. Yet, despite the wealth and fame, the shadows of the past continue to loom over the island, reminding all who enter that not everything is as it seems.

Chapter 7: A Combatant's Eternal Struggle

While clothing is optional on Fight Palace Haven, the world has lived alongside Furries for millennia—some born, others made—with society largely indifferent to their existence. Ethical boundaries splinter to conceal an inconvenience to reality. Researchers now call the Ancestrion the Chronostrand.

Michelle, a shapely frog bounty huntress in pursuit of her latest target, enters the tournament with her own agenda of discovering Chronostrand's clandestine origins. But she is unaware that its intent is to ensorcel a dark omen upon the land, gathering its energies for longer than millennia.

Meanwhile, Dickory, devious tuxedo spectre of the TomTom Agency's felines, also enters the tournament as he stares into his own dilemma of blowing the lid on ToonPimp's investors or accepting a hush fund. What's rent to him when the world's still turning? And even he's now begun to see what sustains this grand lawn. The new, hip word around the block- Chronostrand. What could be the connection??

Chapter 8: An Ancient Tongue, Longing

As Froggou's sacrificial power reaches a zenith, Michelle faces a tough and ancient temptation much as Gavreck himself did: allow Froggou to fully imbue her with its planetary essence, or put her spite aside for Earth's forsaken gluttony?

In the calamity among tournaments, whispers of a great conspiracy begin to surface. The true puppet masters behind the chaos become clearer, and Michelle learns of powerful investors at the heart of society's madness. With stakes higher than she initially realized, she and Dickory find themselves on a collision course, soon channeling their fight to target the real powers that be.

As they navigate the looming treachery of ambition, the wounds of her struggles bloom larger, echoing the cycles of sacrifice and rebirth that encircled the ancestors of this Palace. The cycle may repeat after all...

Chapter 9: Our Nature Expanded/Divided

The public is unaware of the Mining Kings' roles in the initial virus outbreak, barely aware of their ancestry, all while their gods of vanity cite Froggou as Chronostrand, named initially as the Ancestrion. The conversal point through pure blood sacrifices has now created a partial fading, yet incomplete portal to Froggou's homeworld itself. If Earth is imbued fully, what remains of the freedoms we already resist-a hesitated choice, or a lost future?

Chapter 10: Of Blood and Seed

Froggou’s wills have quietly lured countless unnoticed, sensitive unfortunate individuals to its call over the centuries, whispering through time since the days of Gavreck’s deathbed.

As Froggou's victims had increased in number over the years, Michelle is only now its latest call of fate. With Earth hanging in the balance, Michelle is left with little reason to resist—her chance at a normal life, already shattered by her criminal record, seems impossibly distant. Stuck between bounties and the allure of a fight money payout that could change it all, she'd put off the tournament for as long as possible.

Thus, even the deadly risk of the fight seemed better than the constant grind of her crumbling life in Manhattan. Her family’s old tales of Froggou lingered in her mind, a reminder of the cosmic force always lurking behind her fate. And now, the question remained-so will she resist, or will she succumb, as all others had before her?

With the future of humanity at stake, Michelle is left with little reason not to succumb. Furries' names were dragged through the mud by journal outlets the past century over. Never granted higher positions of power, Mr. ToonPimp was an incredibly odd exception to the rule... but now it's do-or-die time for the fight money at the center of that fame. Whether all eyes are on him for the right reasons or not, he’s ready to flaunt the world the size ... of his assets.

Epilogue: N(ucleotide) R(iot) G(ift)

\\//\\//Some versed fighters, like a young white rabbit wearing a red bandana we monitored, channel an energy through pure instinct and honed reflex. To them, it's just the result of relentless practice, like any transcendental mastery. They demonstrate feats of morphogenetic impossibility that surprise most, but their precision stops short of understanding what they truly wield. Such power is not a skill of their own design, but something deeper—something tied to a force that others may recognize, yet they remain blissfully unaware.

Roughly 400 BCE, coinciding with outer migrations, the first 'furries' began to emerge. This period aligns with current findings and is further supported by the absence of Furry fossils or DNA prior to La Tène times. Cross-referencing these discoveries has revealed a pseudo-religious phenomenon tied to specific genetic markers, catalyzing the emergence of a latent energy within the population.

Our study concludes that what appears to others as mystic power is, in fact, the result of protein mutations—spontaneously emerging from Chronostrand clusters. Under weak force stimulation, these mutations manifest as a potent energy, which can then be accessed within the warrior's mind. While seasoned fighters harness this force, the phenomenon itself has been thoroughly understood by the scientific community.

Not all is known about the biological particulate, though it has always been a part of us. It remains a foundational element within the body, like an unseen thread running through us all. Though its true nature is still not fully understood, we now recognize it as the source of NRG.

In controlled accelerator conditions, Chronostrand emitted bright flashes of NRG during positron exposure. Structural reorganization at both atomic and cellular levels suggests the organism evolved in antimatter-rich conditions, possibly present during the Big Bang itself. This conclusion reframes Ancestrion as only a partial descriptor of its properties. Further study is required, though our findings imply antimatter may have played an unacknowledged role in the emergence of anthropomorphic lives.\\//\\//

“You were always of two souls, Michelle…
perhaps that is why it’s so clear to you.
But there’s no wiser truth in holding both skies together—
only the same river spilling over, again and again.”
