Lysundran Faith

Lysundran Faith is a monotheistic religon based in Abexilas and is most prominent in the country of Resilnya

The Tale of Jaias
Lysundra, the Moon Goddess, wove her existence into the very fabric of the night sky. Her celestial form shimmered with an otherworldly luminescence, a dance of silver and indigo that captivated all who gazed upon her.

In the ancient days, when the world was young and magic flowed freely, Lysundra descended from the highest peaks of the moon. Her arrival was heralded by a chorus of celestial birds, their wings brushing against the edges of reality. She stepped onto the Abexilas plane, her feet leaving moon-dust footprints in the dew-kissed grass.

Her eyes, the color of midnight, held the secrets of eternity. They reflected the dreams of lovers, the wishes of poets, and the whispered hopes of lost souls. Lysundra’s purpose was clear: to weave the threads of fate, to guide mortals through the labyrinth of existence.

Jaias, a mortal Catoalan poet with a heart as vast as the cosmos, became her unwitting companion. Each night, he wandered the moonlit forests, seeking inspiration for his verses. And there, beneath the ancient oak, he glimpsed Lysundra—a vision of ethereal beauty.

Their first meeting was like the collision of stars. Lysundra’s laughter echoed through the glade, and Jaias’s heart swelled with longing. He composed sonnets in her honor, inked with moonbeams and dewdrops. She listened  and bestowed upon him a kiss—a kiss that transcended time and space.

But Lysundra was bound by godly laws. Mortals could not ascend to the moon, nor could immortals remain on Abexilas. Their love was a fragile thread, stretched taut between realms. And so, they met in the liminal hours—the twilight between day and night, when the veil between worlds thinned.

Jaias would lie upon the dew-kissed grass, his eyes fixed on the moon. Lysundra descended, her silver gown trailing behind her. They whispered secrets—the language of stars—and their love bloomed like a rare celestial flower. She traced constellations on his skin, mapping out their destiny.

Yet, as the seasons turned, Jaias’s mortality weighed heavily upon him. His hair grayed, and wrinkles etched lines of wisdom on his face. Lysundra remained unchanged, her eyes eternal, her touch like moonlight on his skin. She wept silent tears, for she knew their love was a fleeting comet across the night sky.

One fateful night, as the moon waxed full, Lysundra made her choice. She kissed Jaias one last time, her lips tasting of stardust. “My love,” she whispered, “I shall grant you eternal slumber. You shall dream of me, and I of you.”

And so, Jaias slept—an immortal sleep beneath the ancient oak. His body became a vessel for moonlight, his breath a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves. Lysundra watched over him, attuned to his dreams. She wove his memories into the moon’s silver tapestry, ensuring that their love would echo through eternity.

To this day, when the moon hangs low and silver, lovers gaze upward, seeking the Moon Goddess’s blessing. They whisper their wishes, their hopes, their longing. And Lysundra, with her shimmering appearance and eyes like midnight, listens. For love, like the moon, knows no bounds—it waxes, wanes, and dances across the heavens, leaving traces of magic in its wake.