For Sprites, time on Earth flows differently than at the source—a realm without bodies, where all distinctions between them dissolve. The source offers pure awareness—a seeing without eyes—where Sprites find respite from the long stretches spent on distant worlds.
Ancient ones are recognized at reincarnation, brimming with unmistakable confidence as they reanimate mythical forms from our past. These Sprites thrive in heroic roles of love and war, shaping us through generations of triumphs and tragedies.
With his unique methods, a Sprite named Ido spent eons in the service of others. His creative ideas influence animal behavior, reshape natural systems, and seed prosperity throughout the universe.
In the hostile depths of Earth’s vast oceans, Ido revitalized dead ecosystems with his warmth and light, nurturing tiny lifeforms until they flourished. Yet, over ages of solitary care, his peaceful solitude slowly turned into a weary sense of isolation.
Sensitive Sprites like Ido can shrink inwardly if duty outweighs joy, bearing burdens of inadequacy. Separated from source, a hollowness grew inside Ido as his strength faded. Worn by years of selfless giving, his body gradually relaxed until he quietly passed away in peaceful rest.
Death has a powerful way of renewing the soul. The threat of losing everything shakes our foundations—but from those shadows emerges the light of new life. After returning to source, Ido’s passions reignited, this time reborn as a human baby boy.
“Ido, I love you.”
Ido had no recollection of his previous life spent under water. He was kept busy figuring out how to work his body. The light in this room was so blinding that he hadn’t bothered trying to see anything. He could hear his name though, because whoever was holding him kept calling him it.
Ido imagined if all humans were like her, he was certain to love it here. Tender touches to the face and head reassured him of her sweet and gentle nature as her voice put him under a loving hypnosis. Ido felt her rise, then suddenly lurch forward, causing a painful squeeze to his ribs. He heard her sweet voice swear loudly before he was delicately lowered into a baby carrier.
The vibrations and white noise of machines filled the next eighteen hours, punctuated by occasional human voices. Though his cloth wrapping was adjusted regularly, nothing felt quite as comforting as earlier when his face was gently stroked.
A loud latch signaled their arrival home, sending a refreshing wave of cool air brushing quickly across Ido’s face. After some jangling keys and a gentle ascent upstairs, he was placed into a crib with a firm mattress and blankets that carried the familiar, comforting scent of the person he began to suspect—was his mother.
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