Chapter 4

In the heart of the vast marshlands known as the Neck, there lived a unique and resilient people called the crannogmen. Their villages, fashioned from reeds and thatch, perched upon floating island like fashioned mire. These humble abodes were a testament to their resourcefulness and their intimate connection with the untamed landscape that surrounded them.

The crannogmen, so named for their distinctive way of life, were a humble and poor folk. Their existence revolved around the bounty of the marsh—fishing and frogging providing their sustenance. Their villages, though modest, held a certain charm, their structures blending seamlessly with the marsh's natural beauty.

Legends and rumors surrounded the crannogmen, some suggesting that their smaller stature was a result of intermarriage with the children of the forest. Others, more skeptically, attributed their size to the harsh reality of poor nutrition. Yet, the truth lay hidden in the veins of every crannogman—a trace of the ancient bloodline of the children of the forest.

Despite their modest living conditions, the crannogmen held steadfast to the faith of the old ways. In the South, where the influence of the Faith of the Seven and the Andals took root, the crannogmen remained a beacon of the ancient beliefs. They were disparaged by outsiders with derogatory names like "frogeaters" and "mudmen." The ironborn, ever known for their seafaring conquests, dubbed them bog devils—a testament to the crannogmen's resilience in the face of persistent challenges.

Notoriously difficult to conquer, the crannogmen maintained their independence and their unique way of life. The ruler of these marshlands, House Reed of Greywater Watch, held the reins of leadership.

In the midst of his journey towards the North, Xerneas felt an inexplicable pull, a calling from the heart of the woods that compelled him to halt his stride. Turning to gaze towards the source of the mysterious energy, his eyes penetrated the dense swamps and thickets, reaching the region nestled between the Flint Cliff and the Neck.

There, beneath the ancient canopy of the woods, Xerneas beheld a poignant scene. A group of people, their faces etched with both despair and hope, had gathered around a heart tree. Their fervent prayers resonated through the air, a solemn chorus that conveyed the weight of their emotions. Among them, a couple stood, their hearts heavy with grief, as they beseeched the gods for the recovery of their child, who lay stricken by the relentless grip of the greywater fever.

The onlookers, though weak and wearied, offered solace and support to the grieving parents. In the heart of this somber assembly, the oldest Weirwood tree in the region stood sentinel. Xerneas, an observer, felt a connection with the devoted souls who sought solace beneath the sacred tree.

As the collective faith energy of the gathering manifested in a quiet symphony of prayers and cries, Xerneas sensed a familiar force gathering around him. His antlers, adorned with an grace, began to radiate in seven colors that shimmered through the mist. The mystical aura of the Weirwood, coupled with the fervent devotion of the people, kindled a deep sense of attachment within the Old Gods.

Moved by an invisible force, Xerneas took a deliberate step forward, the mist swirling around him as he advanced towards the Neck.

That fateful night, Lord Howland Reed returned to his seat in Greywater Watch with a heavy heart, accompanied by his wife. The woods had become a place of solace for him, a sanctuary where he sought the guidance and compassion of the old gods. His men, too, had joined him in this sacred pilgrimage, gathering beneath the oldest Weirwood tree in the region to offer prayers for his only son, Jojen Reed.

Greywater fever had swept through the marshlands, claiming the lives of many, including some of Lord Reed's loyal men. The disease had taken hold of Jojen, casting a shadow of despair over the Lord's heart. The woods echoed with their desperate prayers, a chorus of sorrow that reverberated through the mire.

In the midst of their collective plea, a soothing sound, almost like a celestial melody, reached Lord Reed's ears. Intrigued, he and his men emerged from their homes, drawn by the ethereal sound that seemed to permeate the air. To their astonishment, the swamp that had long been veiled in mist started to clear.

In the visible eyes of the gathered folk, a transformation unfolded. The once murky and somber landscape blushed with the vibrant hues of revitalized grass. Trees, dormant for years, began to grow before their very eyes, stretching towards the sky in a display of newfound life. A gentle breeze swept through the mire, carrying with it a sense of renewal and hope.

As the enchantment continued, the people felt a change within themselves. Bodies that had aged and withered now seemed to reverse in time. Grey hairs darkened, and those who had succumbed to illness experienced a miraculous recovery. An ethereal energy, soothing and revitalizing, invaded their bodies, knitting together the fabric of their beings.

The transformation extended to the once murky waters of the swamps. Clear and pristine, the water bodies revealed their hidden beauty. Trees bore fruits, a symbol of the newfound fertility that had graced the land. Fishes leaped in joy, their scales shimmering in the now-clear waters.

Tears of joy streamed down the faces of the people as they beheld the miracle unfolding before their very eyes. In the clearing mist, every man and woman dropped to their knees, overwhelmed with gratitude for the blessing bestowed upon them by the great old ones. The air resonated with heartfelt thanks, a chorus of voices raised in awe and appreciation.

In the distance, a silent observer watched the jubilation unfold. Xerneas remained at a respectful distance, his majestic form dimming as his antlers returned to their neutral state. Xerneas having witnessed the genuine gratitude of the people, decided to resume its journey towards the North.