Vireon is a fragment—or “child”—of Jhebbal Sag, whose curiosity about humanity got the better of him. He is essence escaped and given mortal form to explore the complexity of human civilization: the manifestation of a yearning to be part of something he doesn’t understand. His “father,” both critical and curious of Vireon’s desire, granted him leave to walk the mortal world in flesh. Or perhaps the reality is even more bizarre: that a shard of the Primal One willed itself into being, possessed of agency, and rather than seek to reclaim it (for to do so would be to cage a kindred spirit), the Lord of Beasts merely observed, curious to see what his spawn would do with such freedom.

As for how Vireon came to appear in the world of men, he remembers very little. One day, the earth trembled. The winds whispered. The grass waved. Rivers spoke. Beasts howled. And thus, Vireon was “born.” His only clear memory is awakening in a forest, naked and cold, beneath a full moon that seemed to smile down at him like a mother seeing her child for the very first time. Vireon knew not where he was—neither in space nor time—nor even his own name. He remembers slowly raising himself up off the earth, trembling. That’s when he saw it at the edge of the trees: a beautiful beast of soft, white fur and radiant green eyes that glowed in the dark, seeming to say, without words, “Follow me.”

The wolf turned and bolted before Vireon could collect his bearings. He stumbled to his feet, compelled to give chase. It was the first thing in the world to meet his gaze so directly, so intently—something that might know. Cold, confused, and afraid, Vireon ran and ran, until something inside began to ache. His lungs burned. His legs faltered. What was this feeling? Pain? Exhaustion? The body grasped for air in a finite world—a world entirely new to Vireon. Still, he refused to lose sight of the creature. Who am I? Where am I? What am I? All he could think was some desperate, wordless form of “Please have answers for me.”

Vireon ran until he was on the verge of collapse, certain he had lost the wolf, when he stumbled into a clearing. There, the wolf waited, seated at the edge of a still, moonlit pond. The water reflected everything—the trees, the sky, the stars—but most of all, the gargantuan glowing orb that Vireon would come to call his “mother,” the moon, if only symbolically. The wolf gestured to the water. Vireon stepped closer, heart still pounding, and gazed down to find yet another creature staring back at him.

It took him a moment to understand he was looking at his own reflection—the horns, the eyes, the tail, the nakedness, the frightened loneliness. It was him. He blinked, and a whisper stirred within his mind—a name: Vireon. “My name is Vireon,” he said aloud, though he didn’t know how or why. The word resonated in his chest like a memory he’d never lived. I am Vireon. For the first time, he saw himself, and the self saw back.

Emotion surged—nostalgia, longing, familiarity—all of these things, faint outlines of moments that never happened, of future possibilities. The world began to take shape, but only just. His thoughts formed patterns, emotions were held without slipping, and with it came structure. Overwhelmed, Vireon collapsed into the fetal position, crying so violently it echoed across the lake and into the forests beyond. None of this made any sense. And it hurt. Gods, did it hurt. Why?

The wolf stood silently next to him, unblinking, as minutes passed. Eventually, Vireon pushed himself up from the coarse, wet sand, wiping away tears from a face he was only just beginning to recognize as his own. He looked back at the wolf, then again at his reflection. The crying stopped. His breath slowed. His senses sharpened. He was now aware of himself as himself, though without context. Without meaning. There was only the void within him—folding and unfolding into itself—and the feeling that something unspeakably precious had been lost to him. When he turned toward the wolf again, it was gone.

Vireon was alone in the world.