Thalmir Runehold arises as the dwarves—now known as the Barazûn—carve their history and sacred law into unbreakable runes. In every mark of hammer on stone, in every line etched in memory’s glow, they see the breath of a new god: the quiet but resolute voice of their collective story.

Thalmir’s presence is more than divine—it is a promise. A promise that the legacy of the Barazûn will not fade like whispers, but endure in runes of unyielding memory, a testament that even the weight of centuries cannot erode.

Numa arises in the heart of the night—where survival demands not just strength, but the quiet art of deception. In every whispered deal and every stolen glance, she watches. In the breathless pause before a lock gives way, she smiles.

To some, she is the patron of thieves and rogues; to others, a reminder that even the cleverest secrets have their price. In every corner where moonlight meets shadow, Numa whispers that the world belongs to those with the wit to claim it.

The Gilded Legion, once renowned for their discipline and merciless precision, descended into the Endless Hollow—a chasm where light fails and echoes carry ancient secrets. None who followed them ever returned.

Their camps were found eerily empty: no sign of battle, no blood or bodies, just broken banners and cold fires. In the years since, their fate has become legend—a tale whispered in fear and wonder.

Some claim they were taken by the Hollow itself, drawn into realms beyond mortal understanding. Others say they guard relics never meant for mortal hands. And so the truth waits, like a half-forgotten song, in the shadows of the Hollow—waiting for those brave enough to uncover what became of the Gilded Legion.

In the dawning shadow of this age, pain becomes a river flowing through every mortal heart—no longer an isolated wound, but a force that shapes the world itself. From this collective anguish, Legaria emerges—goddess of pain, oppression, and suffering. In her cold embrace, pain is no longer silent—it becomes a divine truth, an echo of the cost of living.

Yet even as Legaria’s shadow grows, a quiet light flickers into being. In the halls of the Varnokh, Zarganna emerges—goddess of life, birth, and the quiet flame that carries the future. Her arrival is a surprise to the warlike Gorr’kel, for she stands alone as a force of compassion and promise in a pantheon shaped by might and fury.

It is the warrior-priest Xunakkaz of Kharvulok who declares her presence a divine promise of survival—her priesthood becomes sacrosanct, and all who honor the Gorr’kel will die to protect it. In the meeting of shadow and light, mortal hearts learn that even the harshest night holds the seed of dawn.

In this age of gathering shadows, Vargesi claws her way free from the horror of mortal necromancy—her form a twisted testament to what should never be, a silent scream in the face of death’s perversion.

Meanwhile, in the quiet glades of the Syl’Aeris, ambition and betrayal take root. From this silent rot emerges Sylrissiel—a god born of cunning and ambition, a mirror of human truths woven into the ancient soul of the forest.

In the forge-lit halls of the Barazûn, the final echo of their divine pantheon takes form: Durgron Blackbarrow, god of betrayal and ruin. His emergence is a grim reminder that even the strongest stone can be hollowed by deceit, and that exile’s shadow can reach even the deepest halls.

In an age of conflict and yearning, the tale of Caelion, knight of Astraea, and Darion, the wandering bard, becomes legend. At the Siege of Briarhold, their bond of blade and song forges a harmony that turns the tide of battle.

From their triumph is born The Crimson Ballad—a hymn cherished by the Church of Astraea. It weaves a truth that transcends time: that love and war are not opposites, but reflections of the same soul. Though its year does not mark a conquest or a cataclysm, its melody endures in every heart that seeks both justice and compassion.

Over the long years, the Felden learn that death is not the end of the story. In every gentle farewell, in every whispered promise of reunion, they kindle the quiet faith that memory binds hearts across the veil of mortality.

Vaylora emerges from this shared understanding—a goddess of gentle passage, memory, and the warmth of fellowship that endures beyond the final breath. She is the hearth that waits beyond the mortal coil, the light that never fades, promising that every soul’s journey will one day circle back to those they loved.

In a time when mortal rule shifts from open conquest to quiet schemes, Zaldris slinks into being. His breath stirs in every council chamber where truth is bartered like coin and every promise that hides a blade in its shadow.

Born of mortal hunger for secrets and the power they bring, Zaldris becomes the god of subterfuge and hidden knowledge—a silent force that reminds all who dare the game of power that nothing stays buried forever.

Tanaerithiel, the Argent Lady, Syl’Aeris goddess of passage, spirit, and renewal, emerges as the Dral’Vyrn yearn for forgiveness and a path back to Aelindor. In their collective hope, she takes shape—not as a warden of the dead, but as a gentle guide through the soul’s journey of change.

Her quiet promise of redemption stirs hearts among the Dral’Vyrn, and soon her stories echo across species and cultures. Tanaerithiel becomes the first deity honored by all peoples of Khassid—a living symbol of shared mortal hope, transcending every boundary of race and creed.

As mortals peer into the darkness and find only their own terror reflected, Umbros emerges—god of darkness, loss, fear, and madness. In every trembling heart and every mind that shivers at the edge of the unknown, he whispers of the cold void that lies beyond sight.

His presence is both warning and promise: that in the spaces where light fails, the soul must reckon with what it truly fears.