The Cauldron of Dagda

It has never been empty. Not once, in all the ages since the Tuatha Dé Danann first brought it from the northern city of Murias to the shores of Ireland. Every soul that has ever stood before it has been fed. Every hunger it has ever faced, it has answered. The druids do not worship it. They tend it, the way one tends a fire that must never go out, or a truth that must never be forgotten. They come at the turning of seasons, when the boundary between worlds grows thin, and they stand in silence because some things are beyond words. The flame within is not fire. It was never fire. It is older than fire. What it holds is not food. It was never merely food. It holds what the world needs. It always has. It always will. No one goes away from it empty.