My dear friend,

I write to you this night with ash and rubble clinging to my boots and a wonder in my memory I scarce believe my own eyes have witnessed.  You recall, no doubt, how long Her Majesty has hunted for the Eternal Flame, that ancient relic that even I once believed only a myth.  Years it has been, and though we all thought the trail had iced like the cursed lands of the night, the Queen has never once set her torch aside.

A short few days ago, she summoned my crew to a site her scholar marked upon their maps.  An old chamber, buried beneath the ruins of time.  The place was said to have once cradled fire in the days before Kindra had been named.  My men grumbled as the work began, yet another wild chase for an old child’s tale.  The ground was stubborn and prone to collapse, who would blame them for wishing to lay down their tools and return to a more fruitful labor?  At least, that was until the queen stepped into our tunnel.  She greeted each worker by name, despite not having known them save for my reports.  The complaints turned to silence.  None would shame themselves by rebuking such resolve.

We dug.  Each time my men grew tired, they looked upon the light of our Queen’s lantern and pushed themselves on until they could no more.  While my workers burrowed deep with their might, Her Majesty demonstrated things we couldn’t have hoped to achieve.  She held her lantern in one hand and a pickaxe in the other.  My men struck with might to carve a path, swinging to cut deep with each blow, but the Queen- she moved the ground as though she was one with it.  Her tools glided through the stone as if it bent to her will.  Such an honor to see our Queen at work.

Hours bled into days, and at last the realm of Flame yielded what we were after.  A crack gave way, and from it breathed forth a glow like seeing Netharna herself.  Like when we were children and we saw the grace of Holy Fire for the first time.  We were inspired.  What we found was no Eternal Flame, yet none dare say it was less than a wonder.  Imagine it- a golden fire, pure and unyielding, burning with no wood or wick to keep it lit.  It danced upon nothing, yet it seemed to grow brighter as Her Majesty gazed upon it.  We all knew this was not what we were after, yet none dared wish for anything more.

Our Queen did not yet tell us what we had found, rather she called us to gather around it.  She reached out to the flame and pulled wisps of it off, touching each of us with it.  We may not have known at the time, but we had just become a part of history.  I will never forget what our Queen said that day, “This fire is a symbol, a gift from Netharna herself.  You, my people, are a beacon to the Nether.  Upon this flame will rest your hope, as upon my people has rested mine.  Those of you who so desire will form a new council within our walls, appointed by divine right.  You will be the Council of Hope, for you have brought hope to our people with your actions today.”

With her blessing, we bore it to the library, for we believe the scholars first found this place..  My friend, you must see it there now.  It towers higher than sixteen men, a column of living light that warms the halls.  The scribes once bent over dim candles or carried around their own lanterns, but now the Flame of Hope illuminates their pages.  Their ink flows as though called forth by Netharna herself.

I tell you plainly, I felt a stirring in my chest that no pickaxe or hammer ever gave me.  This fire is not just for our Queen, it is for us.  Given these events, I trust that the Eternal Flame will enter her grasp, but, should that not happen, I think this alone would prove her reign blessed.  Knowing our Queen, however, she will not rest until the relic is found.  I, for one, will follow her tools in hand to right the path for her.  I have declined the position on the council in favor of joining the Queen in her search.  May hope fill the hearts of the people until the day of victory comes.

In Flame,

Thorne Pyrstone, Foreman to Flame