Firion had blinked. He had forsaken his gift. Come the morning, he would enter the Village and his long slumber would resume. And yet his eyes still searched the sky – as they would every evening thereafter – and hope. Hope for a sign. Hope for salvation. Hope for redemption. He knew that second chances were rarer than first chances. He would be ready. He would not fail again.— The Story of Firion
Or so he hoped.