The Three Brothers

Book Text
Let this tale be told in the light of the fireflies, as we eat of the emperor, and comfort one another through our loss.

There were three, but now two. Mighty Khorr, Ruthless Girok, Thoughtful Gorir. Once united amongst their weave, through their web, under watch of the Three Sacred Sisters, their thread is now severed and we mourn.

Our island gave to us, the Sisters provided for us, and it was good. We looked upon it and saw only bounty, only peace. Our bellies full and enemies none, we pursued life and all that it had to offer.

And yet, perhaps we took too much. Our numbers grew, and the emperors waned. Stomached growled and our young died. Girok moved first, and fed poisoned words to Khorr. There was room for only two, and the third must perish. And so we knew war, with brother and sister.

"Why?" Thoughtful Gorir cried out, "Why must this be so?" And Mighty Khorr paused. "We do this because there is only room for two. We shed tears that this must be so, brothers." Thoughful Gorir saw the tears, and knew this to be true.

"But wait, Mighty Khorr! Stay your fang one moment longer. Should we perish, then what of you? Will not Girok strike at you once we are no more? Your hatchlings will take our place, and the emperors will wane again." Mighty Khorr looked behind and saw Ruthless Girok poised to strike. They saw the wisdom in Thoughtful Gorir's words.

"Ruthless Girok has plotted this, woven a tangled web that we cannot escape. We must cut the ties that bind, sever the arm so that the body does not die."

And the Mighty Khorr turned their back to Ruthless Girok.

And the Thoughtful Gorir turned their back to Ruthless Girok.

Girok found itself alone, and hungry, and betrayed by their ambition. They understood the folly of their way, and accepted their exile. All three of us, together for the very last time, built great silken ships. We shed tears for our loss as the Three Sacred Sisters led Ruthless Girok away from out island - north, toward the horizon.

And so we mourn, we mourn under the light of the fireflies, for the loss of our arm, our sibling, the thread that made us whole. And we remember, and we live better, so that brother never fights sister again.