Origin

At the beginning there was only the Endless Void. Silent, weightless, and unbound by time or measurement. Suddenly, there came the roar of primordial flame: the Vhaelor, fire that shattered the stillness of creation itself. No tongue can capture the enormity of it, of Aureth, our World-Forger. Flame gushed ceaselessly from his maw as the Void drew back in terror. Where the flame touched, molten stone cooled and hardened, the skeleton of our world gradually took form. Mountains rose like jagged fangs as rivers of liquid light spilled across the scorched plains. Yet stone and liquid fire could not endure alone. From the ashes and hollows of this new creation, Nythra was born. She Who Breathed Nyr, Life. Her breath was a calmer, silver-veined flame, soft and warm. Rivers of clear water rose through the dry stone, finding their courses. Seas and oceans rose and fell with the rhythm of her lungs. Her blessings stirred and brought forth the first spirits and forests without end. Still, the skies turned wild and the oceans knew no rest. Thus, Vaelith, the Storm-Bearer, was born from the raging thunderheads and the wind’s fury. His breath, lightning, crawled across the heavens and forged a trembling barrier between the waters below and the cyclones in the sky. Thereafter, a sacred rhythm formed across the world. Alas, this newborn world remained fragile. Infernos threatened to devour it; floods eager to drown it. From the last shadows of The Void came Rhyssar, the last of The First and keeper of Balance. Twilight was her breath, binding fire to stone, water to soil and sky to wind. No element could rise above the rest, lest Vek thyr esh drael. Thus, they were the first Dragons: Aureth and Nythra, the raging forge and the gentle life. Vaelith and Rhyssar, the wild storm and twilight calm. The four came together, breathing as one. Aur Nythra Vae Thyr. Fire rages at the heart of the world. Water nourishes the land. Winds carry seeds, songs, and memories across all creation. Every dragon born will carry that First Breath. The legends tell of the sparks of creation lingering long after the Four’s own flames had cooled. The Aethyr, children of the world, understood that it still needed tending to. Fire is not gentle; it hungers and consumes. Yet, it also creates. Observing their creation with their wings spread against the dawn of the new world, the Four gathered in council with their children. Aureth spoke of the fire’s power to shape and to ash. Nythra spoke of its warmth and its binding between souls. Vaelith warned of its relentless hunger and drive to consume. Rhyssar declared it was meant for all things. At the conclusion of this council, the Four bound their children together, “Aur theryn esh Vae.” The accord was set: their Aeth would live within their children, dragon descendants, and Aethyr, alike. All beings grow from that spark. The hunter steps fearlessly into darkness. Rage strikes back against cruelty, and love binds tighter than iron. Within every heart burns a different Aeth, a different flame. Not all burned with a righteous light; there were those who smoldered cold, twisted by resentment and wrath. Yet even these were welcomed… for they too were born from the sacred flame. It is not only in flame’s nature to provide warmth and light, but also to devour. Thus, the first bonds flourished between dragon and mortal at dawn of the world. When their Aeth joined, something greater than either was born. Mortals gave dragons resolve in suffering and dreams that reached past the edge of the known world. In return, dragons gifted their Rhaevin—their bonded mortals—the power of flame, the freedom of the heavens, and the ancient Laevyr, the memories preserved in their immortal blood. Dragon and mortal were never meant to live apart; they are two halves of the Aeth-Ae, the same Sacred Flame. The gift was not granted without burden. Within every spark exists both creation and destruction. Mercy and ruin. Peace was never meant to be the absence of struggle, but the balance forged through it. Beyond the edges of the world, the Void waits eternally for the day when the flames finally falter. Vek Thyr esh Drael.

End of chapter