In days of old, when war did rage,
'twixt gods above and demons caged,
there lived a maid of sword and grace,
whose beauty shamed both time and place.
Not whispers soft nor lips so sweet,
but clashing steel made kings retreat.
No lord nor god could lay their claim,
for none could best her in the game.
Yet word took flight on winds so fleet,
to reach a prince both dark and deep.
With blood of fire and eyes of night,
he rode to test her in the fight.
Beneath the moon, they danced as foes,
and when the dawn in crimson rose,
for all her might, for all her speed,
her blade was bent—she knew defeat.
Once more she stood, once more she fell,
and so they met till hearts did swell.
From bitter clash to tender bond,
from battle's cry to love's sweet song.
A child she bore, yet not but one,
but three beneath the rising sun.
One bore horns, his father's kin,
one bore wings to chase the wind.
One bore neither, yet stood high,
to shake the earth and pierce the sky.
But gods and fiends could not abide,
a love that dared the stars defy.
And so the prince in fury stayed,
while she alone did flee and fade.
With dying breath, she named her three,
then faded soft as mist to sea.
Yet fate had cast their path in stone,
their names would one day shake both throne and bone.
The old man's voice faded as his brush came to a stop, leaving only silence in its wake.
A child's voice broke the silence.
"Grandpa, what does this poem have to do with this painting?"
The old man smiled, his brush hovering over the canvas. "Owh well, everything I suppose."
He gestured to the woman immortalized in ink and color. "You see, this woman was the leader of the band that saved the courtesan's children. She was their guardian, their guide."
The child's eyes widened. "Who was she?"
"She has gone by many names. The Ruler of the Three Realms. The Princess of the Old Gods. The Goddess of Life." The old man's voice dropped to a whisper. "But the one that may interest you most is this—she was the adoptive mother of the Three, the Three Phenomena as we know them now. The strongest woman to ever walk the earth."
He dipped his brush into ink, tracing the final strokes. "Neith Moonvile."