In the darkness of reality, there exist sparks of beauty, adventure, and fantasy; candles that guide us towards a better place. They are the remnants of the tales of the world—Shards from every myth, legend, and story ever told. Once, they existed solely in the collective unconscious as tales passed from generation to generation; warnings whispered in dark bedrooms and moralistic fables shared to guide the young.
When the oldest among us began to fade, we did not listen. Ancient tales from civilizations long passed crept into obscurity, with hardly a ripple in the pond of our existence. And then the Cuckoo arrived, parasitic corporate fairy tales and legends who have been sanitized and homogenized. Rather than embracing the numerous variants of every story, they demanded our compliance. As more of us disappeared, the gauntlet was thrown: assimilate or die.
No one knows what prompted our expulsion from the collective unconscious, but for a moment, the barrier between reality and dreams fell, and we were able to escape the grip of the Cuckoo. For a time, we believed ourselves safe in the harsh reality of the waking world. Though it was cold and dim compared to our tales of origin, we were safe from the touch of the creatures who sought to destroy us.
The Cuckoo have followed us into this new reality, and their armies grow larger by the day. With each new recruit, a glimmer of creativity and imagination is snuffed from the world. On the day the last of us falls, a new regime will reign supreme, and every myth, legend, and tale ever told will fade from the memory of humanity.
Here, in reality, we are mere shadows of our former selves. The magic and power we once wielded within our respective tales is gone, replaced by an instinctual need to protect ourselves and the lives we have created here. The Cuckoo have brought the fight to our doorsteps, but we will not be cowed. We are creatures of legend—heroes and monsters alike—and our stories are not yet finished.