Spread throughout the equatorial region of a planet called Xemuria, a race of avianoid beings existed called the Xemurians. They were masters of the skies, in a paradise filled with megaflora, rainbows, and exotic insects.

Paragons of anarchism, over the last generations kindness had begat kindness, and a spirit of consideration had entwined itself so fully that any need for the rule of law had long since been abandoned. It helped that their world was one of beauty and abundance. Hunger and cold were unknown. Clothing, which was optional, existed as an ornamentation. Possessions were quite minimal, with one exception being that everyone kept the shells they were born in throughout their lifetime, a sort of personal relic. 

Work was another non-concept. One took responsibility as a given, but in working together not much individual effort was needed. So most of the Xemurian day was spent doing whatever one wanted. It was a relaxed and playful existence.

Xemurian homes were high in the treetops, where they could see the stars at night. And just before dawn, the xemurian way was to sing the things that you wanted to be, and sing the things you loved that already were. Because song is spirit made manifest— you helped create the new day with your song, and in doing this day after day, your expression created the world.

It was half symphony and half cacophony, and it felt absolutely amazing. There was a seriousness around this for the youngest Xemurians, because they respected the tradition that this activity was reserved for those who had passed a point of maturity that was known as “Finding Your Voice”. Much ado was made of the early cheeps and babbles of the hatchlings, but the threshold of “Finding your voice” in a clear, strong way was as much a Rite of Passage as the ability of Flight.
Just as in respiration, while expression was such a vital part of life, it was equally important to focus on what you took in. The Xemurians were the great

Aeromancers of their time. Wind Divination was a very respected source of information. A skill of finesse and subtlety involving the grey area where listening and feeling merge, its development took time and patience. ‘The wind is a window’, the old ones often said.

Less austere, and especially beloved by children, was the practice of Nephomancy—the art of finding messages in the clouds. 

Zāgin was a fledgling Xemurian. Their wings were blue and they had tufts of yellow feathers around their eyes, as if they were two unusually alert sunflowers. They were kind, like all Xemurians, but very cautious by nature. Even in the shell, their hatching was so belated that their poor mother wept in the fear that they had died in there. As they grew, their slowness also became more pronounced. They moved through the world as if some force was gently but constantly pulling them away.”

As for “Finding Their Voice”, it began to look like they didn’t have it in them. Like a tidal wave that grew but would not break, a secret longing for self-expression had risen in them. But a stuckness was occurring, some feeling of fracture, every time they made an attempt. 

Grano Vete, the wisest member of the colony, had noticed and taken an interest in them. One afternoon he said to them, ‘You know Zāgin, some part of you does not stay in our world, and another part I believe is lost in time. What would it look like if you brought them all together? Not here but somewhere in the center. Now go look at the clouds like a good child, perhaps you will find an answer.”

A large tear welled up in each of the sunflower eyes. The truth was that they were terrified at the thought of giving in to these strange inner forces. They feared that whatever came back from such an encounter would not be Zāgin anymore, would be a stranger to their family, and the thought of this broke their heart. But they knew it was time for something to change.

Zāgin went off alone to the windy hillside to follow Grano’s advice. They watched the clouds somewhat vacantly, letting the feeling inside their body take control of their focus. Where the breath in met the breath out, where the heart beat met its moment of rest. A deep sense of peace came over them, and they looked again at the familiar skies. But these clouds began behaving like none they had ever seen.

Where there had once been fluffy shapes where one might find some meaning, there was now a vivid white light like a cocoon of shifting geometries. And as the cocoon opened, Zāgin realized that a being was inside, and they watched as it moved through the sky in intricate and impossible ways.”

As soon as the vision faded, Zāgin ran home to tell his family. 

“Zāgin!” his mother laughed, “Your imagination is getting away with you! Those were only white clouds, and we evolved a very long time ago! Our world is happy and free, and it will always be! Thank your ancestors who built all this for you by living the ways they wanted for you.” And she may have been right.

Zāgin felt confused, they were sure what they had seen was real but they were UNsure what to do with a vision that no one else was interested in. Time went by and they began to feel a disconnect from their family, although they loved them.

Feeling unsettled, Zāgin decided again to search the skies for guidance. Clouds were gathering and a strong wind began to blow.

Just as last time, the clouds began shifting, and soon two beings were visible. Again, Zāgin was hypnotized by their nebulous dance, and it ignited within them a desire to move in new ways. 

METAPHIM: “We are the Metaphim…Travelers… Starlight… Future… Ancestry.
Complacency…Isolation…Ignorance: these are the price of your peace. ..Stagnation…Death..,Your voices are needed to create another world.”

Zāgin watched the vision fade in inspiration and wonder.  They didn’t like hearing their wonderful world spoken of in these ways. But it felt like a warning, not a curse. The beings they had encountered seemed to radiate compassion. Zāgin wanted to trust them.

They knew what they had to do next: to share the message of the Metaphim with the whole colony. But to do that they would have to finally find their voice.

That night Zāgin went into sleep like they were crossing a great bridge, knowing things would not be the same on the other side. 

Rising with the sun, Zāgin breathed in more deeply than they had realized was possible, and joined the Dawn Chorus for the very first time.

”I’ve seen the Metaphim

Who came here from the sky

To say our world isn’t safe

We must evolve or die.”

Zāgin felt a little shocked at hearing the power of their own voice, and also an unfamiliar emotion that they would come to understand was called ‘pride’.

But to their surprise, on hearing Zāgin’s message, the colony went completely silent. Zāgin could sense all of the many minds upon them, and the mood was one of hostility.  

It was the last thing they expected from their long awaited choral debut. Zāgin’s mother turned to them with disappointment in her eyes. 

“Why would you sing that? You have brought your delusion into the world with your song,” she said, and she may have been right. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“Maybe you never did,” said Zāgin. “Maybe I don’t either.”

Zāgin ran away in tears to seek guidance from the clouds once more. But this time they found only an empty blue sky. Zāgin breathed deeply and let themself be pulled even further into the center, and it felt as if another door was opened. On the wind they heard the sound of bells, and a voice was singing, and a strange vision began to unfold.

(VOICES in the vision):

“Innovation, growth, playfulness…

I saw them too!

They came from the sky

They told me we had to evolve. I’m not even sure what that means

I was scared at first but they seemed friendly.

They had wings like us. But they were made of light.

At first they were just shapes in the clouds. But then the shapes changed 

and they came to life

I wasn’t sure if they were real.

…Build the Blue egg.”

Awakening from the vision, Zāgin was flooded with joy and relief in knowing they weren’t alone. They were unsure how to fulfill the call to build the blue egg. But then they had an idea. If there were others who know about the Metaphim, maybe they could help. All Xemurian children kept the shells of the eggs from which they hatched. Maybe these could be used to build the egg. 

Zāgin realized that if one could hear messages in the wind, maybe they, themselves could send a message too. So they listened to the wind and sent out a vision of their own: one in which the other believers contributed a piece of their shell to help build the egg. 

Zāgin wasn’t sure if their message had worked. But over the coming days, pieces of shells began appearing in strange places. Zāgin gathered the pieces and patched them together into an egg shaped vessel.

The next morning at first light, they took their creation to the windy hillside and began to fill it with song. Zāgin sang of the playful existence they had known, and of the satisfaction of growing into their voice, and of the excitement of crafting something needed and new. Through the wind came the songs of other children. 

And as the clouds began to gather, the Metaphim once again began to appear, joining in this new Dawn Chorus. They sang of the freedom of the vast blue skies, and as they sang it, the egg turned a beautiful blue.

Feeling pride once again at what they had achieved, Zāgin built a nest out on the fringes of the colony, where the Blue Egg could incubate in the wind, the sun and the starlight until the time for its next phase had come.