A seed of shifting colors

(Lendren is reading Discovering Ellindel and Glinshari in the Ambervault library.)

You think to yourself: There is just -so much- still to learn. To catch up on. Just keep taking one thing and study it and then another, Lendren. No matter how tall the tree, it's climbed one branch at a time.

Susurrations of sound echo in your ears. Before your eyes, colours flicker, coming as if from your own mind.

Lendren blinks and rubs at her eyes. "Maybe I've been reading too much and I need a break," she murmurs.

Lendren sets a black journal bearing the moon's phases down on the top of the bookcase and looks around, stretching.

The colours spread, shifting into shapes and auras around the words on the pages. Your bindi flashes, and words whisper at your ears. "You approach Me once more, My Lendren, as you approach the world once more after long aloneless, seeking your centre." The voice is around you, almost within you.

Lendren gasps, flushes, and then gulps, all in quick succession. "I... I do, yes, Lady Maylea. There is much to learn, or learn again, and sometimes it feels daunting, but nothing grows save by first a seed being planted, and many small labors."

You think to yourself: Don't start babbling, don't start babbling, don't start babbling!

A question thrums through you, and the colours and shapes that fill your vision fade to the periphery. "You wish to be as Yneli, coming to Marythen through the Rite?" A light touch upon your cheek. "You seek to touch the Serene Truths once more, and find what new colour has blossomed?"

Lendren unthinkingly takes a lock of hair and twirls it around a finger. "Yes, I thought perhaps it might serve to foster and strengthen my kinship with the Mayflowers I have been meeting these past months, and have yet to meet, and to help me find my way back to where the Truths are in the air I breathe, not just in memory and habit." She tilts her head towards the sensation of touch, very slightly. "I never did the rite, back when You first came to us, since it didn't exist yet." Faint flickers of rainbow colors spark around her fingers, nervous energy leaking out as illusory light.

You sense curiosity within you, as if it were your own. But this particular sensation had not been there a moment before. "I am intrigued, My Lendren." You suddenly see yourself, arrayed in translucent colour, as if waiting to be reborn. The vision fades as soon as it comes, followed by another whispering of words. "The letter. Is it your intention to conviction, little one? Are you ready for the Rite, or do you plan to listen still to your voice within to find what you need?" Again, the voice seems to come from your own mind.

Lendren slips that lock of hair into her mouth and gnaws anxiously on it a few moments as she thinks, and keeps it there when she speaks. "I think I am as ready as a Yneli might be," she says tentatively. "I have much still to learn of course, but one does not walk to Enlightenment and stop moving. And perhaps the rite will help me better recognize the new colors in this new blossom of my life." Her expression strengthens into more resolve. "Yes, it is my intent, should You bless that intent," she concludes thus, letting the lock of hair fall back to her shoulder.

You think to yourself: New blossom... yes, it is like that. Seed to blossom to fruit to seed to blossom. I hope this blossom is strong.

There is a softening of the whispering at your ear, but the Presence is not any less. You sense golden eyes upon you, studying. A slow wash of thoughts runs through you, though inaccessible to you, and you wait, expectant, as if something new might burst forth.

Lendren draws herself up into as upright, even a little bit proud, a posture as she can muster.

You feel a sudden urge to clench your fist. Your fingers bend, and as they do, a sudden prismatic light passes between them. They touch upon a small kernel, a hard shell. You are holding something.

You are holding:
..., a seed of shifting colours.

This seed is tiny, oval, bearing a hard shell that resists breaking and lies impervious. It is difficult to see its native colouration, for it shines with them all, passing through each colour, named and unnamed, in its continual glimmering. There is an air of possibility about the tiny kernel, as if anything, absolutely anything, might burst forth from its depths.
It weighs 5 ounce(s).
It bears the distinctive mark of Lendren Starfall.
It has the following aliases: seed.

"You walk as a Crafter of Visions before Me, My Lendren. But this seed will be a symbol of your new dedication. It will grow and change, as you grow and change." The seed pulses slightly in your grasp in answer to the Goddess's voice. "Keep it safe. Keep it well. If you should lose it, you will not get another: at least not the same."

Lendren gasps and looks at her own hand, slowly opening it. Her eyes widen, sparkling, and she stares for a moment. "Oh, my," she murmurs. She is slowly closing her hand tightly around it when she looks up, listening closely, and her grip becomes more firm. "I will keep it safe, and study it, and learn what I may from its colors, my Lady. I am honored. I hope I shall bring many visions, many hues, and some wisdom, to myself and to those around me."

You think to yourself: I wonder if it's possible for the Seed Vault to learn from the seed, without me putting it into the vault itself, so that I might keep it safe myself. I will have to speak to Lief or Nialla about this.

The seed responds warmly to your grasp, and if feels as if it were part of you. As if it were you. "Seek the Rite, My Lendren who approaches again as if Yneli. I will note it, so that your fellow Mayflowers might celebrate your dedication with you..." The colours at the periphery of your vision fade also, falling back into the depths of your mind. The whispering quiets to silence. One that is expectant and full of possibility. You sense that the Goddess has drawn away, but watches as She ever does.

Lendren holds her proud posture, actually a bit more proud as she feels the warmth of the seed in her hand, for a good few moments, murmuring, "Thank you, my Lady," her skin flushed and shining. Then she sinks back against the bookshelf and leans heavily on it, causing the book she left atop it to tumble. With the hand that doesn't hold the seed she acrobatically snatches the book from mid-air before it can land heavily. She slips it back into the bookshelf, then just leans and catches her breath.