These lands have known the taste of blood. Droplets of wine once drenched the tall grasses and stained the poppies with their flavor, favoring the victor during times of celebration. This place is one where man and deity alike fed their grievances with bloodletting; brother fought brother, their scarlet mark the mark of sin.

And here, the rivals grew envious of man, for they had never known the heat of their tongue against a mortal enemy’s throat. The rivals raged against one another in combat fit to shake the heavens.

Oh, the rivals were petty despite their divinity. They picked favorites among the mortals and pit families against one another. Heaven’s Valkyrie sharpened their swords, and mortals witnessed firsthand the devastation borne from god’s fury. The earth shook. Lightning sparked the sky in two, the lands split and quaked. The grass ran red with a poppy's ink.

The damage was so great that Rivals promised to never again allow their anger to affect the wolves on earth. The red poppies are a symbol of that promise. These fields are revered as holy land – no battles are to be fought here, otherwise one runs the risk of being cast out.

It is said that wherever a poppy blooms, its petals are the heralds of tragedy.