There once was a pool — vast and immeasurably deep.
Many said that no one had ever seen its bottom, nor could anyone reach it, for the depths seemed to stretch into infinity. Yet, despite its vastness, the pool was unlivable. It was filled with darkness and emptiness. Not a single creature had ever swum in its waters.
The pool's water was foul and bitter — tasting of steel and sour fruit left unripe under the sun. Its smell was like blood, and its stench alone made the place dreadful in every way.
One day, a group of wanderers came upon this desolate place. They were people without a home — exiles, outcasts, rejected by every land they crossed. Wherever they went, they were shunned as outsiders and driven away. Still, they pressed on, yearning for a place to call their own.
After many years of endless wandering, their weary leader found a temporary refuge. There, he heard whispers of a land no one dared approach — a place said to be cursed, where only emptiness dwelled. At its heart lay a pool so vast and dead that people called it the Void.
Though the place offered no hope of life — not even knowing if the pool's water was drinkable — the wanderers had no other choice. Their strength was fading, and a great storm was approaching. If they continued to wander, they would surely perish.
For the first few days, life remained calm. The only hardship was hunger. Their food supply was small, enough to last but two weeks. They tried to find other sources of nourishment, but the land around them was barren, covered only in lifeless grass.
Some among them attempted to dive into the pool, hoping to find something beneath its surface. But each time they entered, the light vanished. They said that once submerged, even the sun could not pierce the water. It was not merely darkness — it was blankness, as if light itself had been swallowed. Worse still, it was utterly silent. No sound could be heard, not even one's own breath. Terrified of what might lurk in that black stillness, no one dared to enter again.
A week passed. The leader began to ponder their fate. Their food was dwindling, and he decided that they would soon journey westward, hoping to find fruit or anything that might sustain them before the storm grew worse.
But that night, the pool stirred.
From its surface rose great tendrils of water — tentacles formed of the pool itself. They lashed out in fury, destroying the wanderers' shelters and scattering their last remaining food.
A voice echoed from the depths — cold, wrathful, and ancient. It condemned the intruders, cursing them for setting foot upon its domain, declaring that they did not belong to any land.
Despair filled people's hearts. Seeing no escape, they prepared to meet their end. But their leader, realizing that it was he who had led them there, could not stand idly by. With all his remaining strength, he ran toward the pool and leapt into its depths.
No one saw him after that — the darkness swallowed him whole.
Deep below, where no light could reach, he swam on. His body weakened, but his spirit did not falter. He swam toward the unseen bottom, driven by a single purpose: to save his people.
Then, suddenly, a light appeared.
It shone so brightly that for a moment, the night turned to day.
When the light faded, the wanderers looked around — and the pool was gone. In its place stretched fertile land, green and alive. The foul water had vanished, and the monstrous voice was silenced.
But their leader was nowhere to be found.
They understood then that he had given his life to cleanse the land — that his spirit had become one with it. From that day forward, they called the place their home, the sacred land born of sacrifice.
And though their leader was gone, his spirit would forever dwell beneath the soil, watching over his people for all eternity.