Year 5,000 – The Cataclysm
In the hushed stillness of the Aelorian Archives, the faint glow of enchanted lanterns bathed ancient tomes and weathered scrolls in a soft, eternal light. Here, among the towering shelves of memory, Illario—the god of time and fate—sat across from Aleryn Duskwhisper, the Keeper of the Archives. She had spent countless hours recording every thread of history he had shared, her quill tracing the echoes of ages long past.
For days, Aleryn had been the patient chronicler, weaving Illario’s words into a tapestry of knowledge for future generations. Yet now, as the story turned to the Cataclysm—the moment that reshaped all of creation—Illario grew somber. His gaze drifted beyond the gentle glow of the Archive’s lanterns, as if seeing not the present, but the endless corridors of time itself.
“Listen closely, Aleryn,” he began, his voice low and measured. “For what I share now is not merely history—it is the echo of a wound that time itself cannot mend. In the endless corridors of memory, I have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, the birth of hope and the quiet death of faith. But no moment has ever weighed upon creation as the Cataclysm. What you will hear is not just a record, but the lament of one who has watched every heartbeat of creation—and knows that even the gods can falter.”
“You must understand, Aleryn, that for nearly five thousand years, our influence sustained Khassid. Mortals thrived under our watchful eyes; their hopes and dreams intertwined with the powers of the divine. Yet that balance—so intricately woven—is no immutable truth. It is as fragile as spun glass.”
Aleryn’s eyes, always reflective and searching, narrowed ever so slightly. “Fragile? Tell me, Illario—what caused our celestial order to crack?”
Illario paused, his gaze distant as though sifting through layers of memory. “Ambition, pride, and negligence. Mortals reached beyond their grasp, inspired by dreams of power—and we gods, content in our station, did little to halt it. Tlaxitan and Kaemir were the first to exploit those cusp-like fractures. Tlaxitan’s tyranny raised empires bound not by freedom but by iron chains, while Kaemir’s insidious whispers shattered alliances once deemed unbreakable. Their influence was corrosive, seeping into every crevice of creation. And then, from the shadows, Miné—ever the silent architect of discord—wove her own subtle treachery.”
Aleryn’s brow furrowed at his words. “So their deceit corroded the very foundation you once upheld?”
“Exactly,” Illario replied, lifting a hand as if to trace invisible strands of chaos. “Under Tlaxitan’s unyielding rule, entire nations were subdued into submission. Kaemir’s murmurings reduced trust to rubble. And Miné, with her insatiable hunger, stoked fires of ambition until they blazed out of control. Together, they corrupted mortal hearts, planting seeds of fear, deceit, and betrayal even in acts meant to be pure and unifying.”
A heavy silence sank between them. Illario continued, his tone growing somber. “As mortal suffering swelled, we gods—lost in our own rivalries—turned inward. We became blind to nature’s soft lament. Oceans raged, mountains cracked, and storms tore the heavens apart—a defiant rebellion of The Wild against our heedless neglect. Mortal prayers, once sacred, fractured into desperate fragments, their pleas snapping like thin threads under unbearable strain. And amidst it all, Thyrron—radiant yet blind with pride—stood at the center, their brilliance masking a deep corruption. Thyrron, the god of Aspiration, Pride, and Ambition, lured even the noblest souls into complacency and vanity. Their influence, which once inspired greatness, became the very fuel of our collective downfall.”
Aleryn’s voice remained calm, yet her tone carried quiet tension. “And The Wild? You mentioned her sorrow reached far and wide.”
Illario nodded gravely. “Indeed. The Spirit of Nature, the living essence of Khassid, bore the deepest wounds. Rivers swelled until they broke their banks, forests trembled as if in mourning, and mountains wept stone. Every act of violence, every betrayal, resonated deeply within her, until at last…”
He let the silence stretch, the memory heavy between them. “Then came…The Scream.”
Aleryn’s gaze locked onto his, urging him silently to continue.
“It was not merely a sound,” Illario whispered, his voice laden with sorrow. “It was pure, unfiltered anguish—a force that surged through every fiber of creation. Mortals described it as if their very souls were being torn asunder. Even we gods recoiled beneath its power, for it was not just a cry—it was creation’s essence rejecting the chaos that had taken hold.”
The words trembled in the space between them, as heavy as the final toll of a distant bell.
Aleryn’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears and unspoken recognition. “I see it, Illario—the pain of my brother Ciryon, the shattered forests, the anguished skies. It is as though I feel every tortured note of that cry.”
Softly, almost to herself, she murmured, “He lived it… Ciryon bore that scream in his very soul.”
Illario’s expression softened in shared grief. “Yes, that scream was a summons—a call so potent that it reached the heart of the Creator. Aeru, who had long remained silent, was drawn back to Khassid by that relentless cry—a realization that our neglect had endangered all of creation.”
A weighted silence followed, thick with the impending reckoning.
Breaking the stillness, Illario’s tone sharpened with resolve. “When Aeru’s gaze descended upon us, it was as if every hidden transgression was laid bare. Their presence obliterated every clash, every weak whisper of defiance.”
“What have you done?” Aeru’s voice thundered, reverberating with unyielding authority. “You were given Khassid to guide—to nurture its hope, not to serve your hubris. Yet you have twisted it into a mirror of vanity, of rivalries and failures.”
Illario’s eyes darkened as he recalled that divine moment. “Even those, like Tlaxitan, Kaemir, and the one who lurked in the shadows—Miné—found their arrogance crumbling under the weight of Aeru’s truth. Our excuses dissolved before the Creator’s gaze, leaving nothing but the echo of our transgressions.”
His words trailed off into a profound silence—a silence heavy with broken trust, shattered hope, and the irrevocable cost of pride, as the memory of that divine judgment lingered eternally.
Illario’s voice softened, laced with deep regret as he recounted Aeru’s rebuke.
“You, who claim to guide, to protect, to nurture… Did you not see what was happening? Did you not see the world crumbling beneath your gaze? Your inaction is no less damning than the deeds of those who wrought this ruin.”
Illario paused, his expression hardening as memories of that fateful moment pressed in upon him. The silence that followed was suffocating—heavy with unspoken meaning. Aeru’s focus then fell upon Thyrron—once a brilliant beacon of Aspiration, Pride, and Ambition, whose radiance had lifted mortals to greatness. But now that very domain had curdled into arrogance, vanity, and greed. I watched, heart in my throat, as Thyrron’s light flickered under Aeru’s terrible gaze, trembling as it was pinned beneath the Creator’s overwhelming presence.
At that moment, the stillness shattered abruptly as Miné’s voice rang out with petulant indignation. Illario’s tone darkened as he recalled the intrusion:
“Of course chaos spreads when arrogance and ambition run unchecked!” Miné snapped, her voice slicing through the charged air. “They dare trample upon MY domain, twisting raw greed into utter ruin! I am owed retribution—restoration—something to set things right!”
Illario’s jaw tightened as he remembered what followed. Miné’s declaration had hung brazenly in the stillness, drawing uneasy glances from every divine soul present. But before she could press her claim any further, Aeru’s presence surged forth—a tidal wave of authority that silenced all defiance.
“You dare speak of retribution, Miné, when your hands themselves are stained with this ruin? Do not presume that your role in Thyrron’s downfall escapes my sight. You fanned the flames of chaos, fed their greed, and stoked the conflagration that nearly consumed all creation.”
Miné’s retort withered then; her luminous form dimmed beneath the piercing intensity of Aeru’s gaze, and she fell mute in the wake of that judgment.
But the tension did not end there. The silence was shattered by a sudden, jarring burst of laughter. Ssthax’s voice—sharp and venomous—cut into the charged atmosphere.
“Well played, Miné!” Ssthax jeered with cruel delight, his tone dripping with sardonic amusement. “Well played indeed!”
In an instant, the laughter died—Ssthax’s form recoiled, his features unreadable, as the oppressive stillness reclaimed the room. Every eye turned once more to Aeru, whose attention had now shifted decisively back to the matter at hand.
With Miné and Ssthax now silenced, Aeru addressed Thyrron directly. “Thyrron,” they intoned, their voice resonant and somber, heavy with the weight of judgment, “your sacred domain was meant to elevate creation—to inspire greatness in mortals and gods alike. And yet, you have twisted that noble purpose. What was once aspiration has curdled into arrogance; where there was pride, vanity now festers; and ambition has devolved into unbridled greed. You have perverted virtues into vices, sowing division and chaos throughout creation. No redemption can be found in the path you have wrought.”
Illario’s gaze grew distant as he recounted the final, fateful words from Thyrron—their only, feeble defense.
Even beneath the unwavering intensity of Aeru’s gaze, Thyrron struggled to offer a defense. Their radiant light, though trembling with resolve, shone through as they proclaimed, “I have done nothing but inspire greatness. Mortals and gods alike reached for their potential because of me. Their actions—their successes and missteps—are theirs alone. I cannot be held accountable for the failings that followed.”
A long, heavy silence followed that final assertion—a silence laden with the profound realization of broken trust, shattered ideals, and the irreversible cost of divine negligence. The memory of Aeru’s judgment—and the devastation wrought by pride and inaction—would echo forever in the annals of creation.
Aeru’s presence loomed over Thyrron, vast and inescapable, suffusing the divine plane with an authority that brooked no defiance. The air itself seemed to shudder under the immense weight of their will, and Thyrron’s once-brilliant light flickered and dimmed as they spoke.
“Dearest Thyrron,” Aeru’s voice softened, imbued with a quiet gravity. “Ambition, once a force to uplift and inspire, has been warped into arrogance. Chaos has seeped where harmony should have flourished, and the fractures left behind scar all of creation. What was meant to exalt the divine has instead diminished it.”
Their words settled heavily in the air, a weight that seemed to warp the very fabric of the divine plane, pressing against every corner with an unyielding authority. The stillness that followed was absolute, a silence so profound it was almost tangible, wrapping itself around creation like an unspoken truth. It was a silence devoid of defiance—no cry of anger nor plea for mercy emerged from Thyrron, only an unsettling quiet as their essence began to unravel.
Threads of Thyrron’s divine being loosened like strands of silk fraying in an invisible wind, each thread shimmering faintly before dissolving into the void. The radiance that had once defined them—brilliant, commanding—dimmed and faltered, fading with a solemn finality that resonated through the ether. Slowly, the edges of their form blurred, and then all at once, Thyrron was gone, leaving only the echo of their existence hanging in the stillness like an imprint on the air.
No sound accompanied Thyrron’s unmaking, only the profound and solemn silence of an ending. And when it was over, nothing remained but an empty stillness, as heavy and unyielding as the judgment itself.
Illario’s voice dipped lower, his gaze heavy with sorrow. “The divine plane trembled in the aftermath, subdued beneath Aeru’s presence. Their judgment ended the chaos, but it could not undo the damage that had been done. Thyrron’s unmaking was a reckoning for us all—a reminder that even we gods are not beyond reproach. And though Khassid endures, the scars of that moment will never truly fade.”
It was Esharra, Goddess of Crafts, Arts, and Invention, who broke the silence first. Unmaking was an act so antithetical to her essence that it struck at the very core of her being. She pressed her hands to her chest, her voice trembling as she spoke.
“They’re… gone.”
Her words were fragile, barely audible, but they carried the enormity of what we had witnessed.
Tlaxitan, known for his strength and defiance, responded almost instinctively. “I can see that,” he snapped, his tone clipped. But even Tlaxitan could not fully mask the cracks in his composure. I saw the tremor in his hands, the tightness in his jaw. He folded his hands behind his back, forcing himself to stand tall, but the truth was clear—what we had witnessed had shaken even him.
Luzion, the God of the Dead, stepped forward, his voice quiet and solemn. “This is not merely the loss of form,”Luzion said, his tone grave and deliberate, like the stillness of a tomb. “Thyrron has been erased—not just undone, but removed from existence itself. No memory, no remnant, no trace remains. It is as if they never were.”
The air hung thick with the finality of Luzion’s words, and the divine plane grew quieter still as the full gravity of Thyrron’s erasure settled over us all.
Aeru’s presence shifted, reverberating with finality as they spoke again. “Thyrron is no more. Their name, their existence, their legacy has been erased from Khassid. Mortals will not speak of them, nor will they remember. But you—you will remember. You will carry the weight of this memory for all eternity, as a warning of what your pride has wrought. Let it remind you of your purpose.”
Only then did the enormity of Aeru’s decree settle upon us, its implications rippling through the divine plane like an unrelenting tide. Thyrron was gone—not merely unmade but erased entirely, their memory stripped from mortal minds. And yet, we would carry the burden of that memory forever. It was a truth none of us could escape, a scar etched into our very essence.
We remained motionless, our luminous forms dimmed under the shadow of Aeru’s judgment. The Creator’s words pressed heavily upon us, each word a reminder of our culpability. None of us dared speak, our silence marking a submission to the authority that shaped all creation.
When Aeru’s presence shifted, sharp and unyielding, it fell upon Miné, whose radiant form flickered like a flame exposed to the storm.
“Miné, you are not without blame,” Aeru said, their voice unwavering and cold. “Your greed fueled the chaos Thyrron wrought. In your struggle with them, you did not seek to stop the destruction—you amplified it. The unraveling of creation is as much your doing as it was theirs.”
Miné’s posture stiffened as Aeru’s words hung heavily in the air. The Creator’s presence bore down upon her, its weight suffocating in its intensity.
“You have also proven yourself unworthy of the domain entrusted to you. Even now, the threads of balance strain beneath your influence.”
We remained motionless, dimmed under the shadow of Aeru’s judgment, fully comprehending the implications of their words. None of us dared speak, submitting silently to the Creator’s authority that bound all creation.
In the suffocating stillness that followed, a single voice rose—gentle and raw, trembling under the immense weight of pain and loss. It was The Wild, speaking with a fragile yet piercing timbre that carried across the divine plane.
“Beloved Aeru, please—no more,” The Wild whispered. “Let this be enough. Creation has borne too much destruction already.”
A moment later, Aeru paused. Their overwhelming presence shifted, a sorrowful tide that pressed anew upon Miné, driving her further into submission. Their voice, softened at the edges but still edged with unyielding fury, spoke:
“They are right. The losses we have endured are beyond measure. Today, Miné, you shall not be unmade—but do not mistake this reprieve for mercy. Your continued existence is owed solely to The Wild. Without them, your very essence would have unraveled alongside Thyrron’s.”
Aeru’s presence pressed even harder, slicing through Miné’s feeble attempts to regain control. “Yet there is balance to be maintained. Thyrron’s temples, priests, and legacy cannot remain untethered. Their custodianship now falls to you—not as a reward but as the heavy price of their unmaking. This is your recompense, Miné, and it comes at a costly burden.”
Illario’s voice then grew quiet, measured, as he reflected on that harrowing moment. “I can picture her, standing on the very brink of unmaking, spared only by The Wild’s mercy with the abyss yawning beneath her. Fear must have consumed her—how could it not? And yet, knowing that she is the Goddess of Greed—the very force that pushed us all down this ruinous path—I wonder if, in that surge of power from absorbing Thyrron’s worshippers, she hesitated. Perhaps, in another time or place, she might have tasted triumph even in that power. But in that moment, I doubt it could outshine her terror. She must have seen how close she came to losing everything: her domain, her very existence. Any fleeting triumph would have paled against that overwhelming dread. Or so I believe.”
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper—stripped of defiance or manipulation—Miné bowed her head and finally said, “As you will it.” The words carried only raw awe and fear, spoken by one who had stared into the abyss and survived.
Drawing a deep, commanding breath, Aeru’s presence shifted outward once more, surging like an unstoppable tide. Their voice rang out with unrelenting authority:
“And you… each of you—look upon the ruin wrought by Thyrron and Miné, and let it serve as a testament to your own fragility. You are gods, yet you are not invincible. Your domains, though sacred, are susceptible to corruption. Your very existence is bound to the fate of creation. Should you falter—should you stray down the path of excess and chaos—you will be judged. You will bear the weight of your choices, and perhaps even the burden of being unmade. Let this day be a warning to you all.”
Aeru’s gaze swept across the pantheon, heavy with grief and authority. The echoes of their words reverberated through the divine plane. We gods—once luminous and resplendent—stood motionless beneath the crushing weight of Aeru’s judgment, our very forms dimmed as the full gravity of their warning settled upon us all.
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