She had fought long battles in many wars, fighting on the front lines with her soldiers, a Queen, shining in the glory of the three sister suns and their broken husband moons on her banner.  Eighteen husband moons, representing all the tribes of her people, held together in a single orbit, a symbol of the rebellion that had freed her land from the Atagroul, the race that had enslaved her people for a thousand years.

And after the battles, she built her land anew, uniting the many broken tribes into one nation, to build stone walls and stone houses and stone castles to protect the land from any chance of the Atagroul returning. For so many years, she'd rallied the people, brokering peace between those broken tribes, uniting them despite their differences, much as the broken moon that orbited in their night sky, a moon shattered by a dragon burning through the night according to the legends of tribes, and yet held together by some unseen force, the love of the sister suns according to other legends of the tribes.

Laws she had written, with advisors selected by the peoples of each tribe.  Eighteen advisors from each of the eighteen tribes, the wisest men and women of each. Her oldest advisor, from the tribe of the Etokiai, fisherman who had settled on the shore, was 107 years old. The youngest advisor, from the tribe of the Essakari, the shaman tribe that settled in the Uplands, was 17 years old. For years, they negotiated and wrote and edited and negotiated more, until they agreed on laws that would unite their people, but give them the freedom they all burned for after a centuries long enslavement and atrocities at the hands of the Atagroul.

Her's was a burning mission, handed to her from the three sister suns, the goddesses who watched over them day after day. Her's was an unending mission, protected by the eighteen husband moons, the gods that stood by her as she planned the rebellion, the war, and later the nation.

She did not marry; the eighteen husband moons were her companions. She did not bear children. She was the Queen, the Priestess, the Mother of the nation that would become Melokai, hope of the Many Peoples. They were all her people. They were all her children. She could not divide her attention from her cause, and so when it came time for her to rest, she went alone.

Seventy-eight long years it took her to start a rebellion, fight the battles, win the war, and lay the foundation for the Nation of Melokai. She was seven when she'd received the mission in a dream, the three suns come to her in the form of three beautiful shining goddesses, reaching out to her, guiding her. They followed her through her dreams her entire life, pushing her. The eighteen husband moons came in her dreams as well, and also, in the dreams of her Warriors, inspiring them to join her in the battle for the freedom of the Many Peoples, in defeating the Atagroul, and in building the walls of stone that would protect them.

So it was at eighty-five that she was ready to rest. Guided by a dream, she wrote one last tome for her people. A guide. 

"My Many People, My Melokai. I must rest now, but there will come a time when you are in great need. The Atagroul are defeated now. You have built the walls. You protect them with your sword and with your prayers and with your magics. Follow these tomes that we as a people have created together. 

But know that if ever you forget to be vigilent, they will return. If ever your unity is shattered, they will return.

And if they return, I will return as well.

To know how to find me..."

When that tome was complete, she followed the dreams of the three sister suns and of the eighteen husband moons, and she journeyed to her resting place, a place of eternal slumber, where her youth was renewed as she slept.

For a thousand years she slept.

The nation of Melokai grew stronger and bolder, expanding beyond the borders of the land they'd claimed, moving outward across the sea to explore other lands, trade with other peoples. 

And as the nation of Melokai grew, the tomes became legends, stories of a time so long ago that no one living could remember it.  The further from the legends they grew, the safer they felt, the more they forgot to be vigilent. And as their vigilence failed, so to did their unity begin to fail. Without a common enemy to protect themselves from, for they were now a great nation in the world, envy of all the other peoples, they began to fight among themselves.

One thousand years passed. One thousand years the Queen rested.

Then the Atagroul returned, and brought her people back to slavery.

With the tomes forgotten and barely a legend in the memory of the Many Peoples, a most unlikely hero rose to find and awaken the Queen.