As the Age of Magic and Exploration begins, so too do new truths find voice in mortal hearts. Shaeris awakens in the whispers of chance and fate—a goddess of luck and fortune, her hand unseen but ever-felt in every gamble and every chance encounter. Where coins clink and dice fall, mortals know that Shaeris dances at the edge of their hopes and fears.

In the deep holds of the Barazûn, Fayra Heartflame emerges as a divine spark of community and hearth. She is the warmth of the shared meal, the laughter around the forge, and the unbreakable bond that ties family to hold. Her presence reminds the Barazûn that while stone and steel may shape their walls, it is fellowship that makes them unyielding.

As mortal minds reach beyond curiosity to embrace magic as a primal truth, Xantheris emerges—not merely as a patron of the arcane, but as its living, breathing soul. His form is not confined to temples or chants—it is his very blood that pulses through every spell, every echo of power that shapes the world. Magic is not learned or owned—it is lived, breathed, and bled into existence through Xantheris’ will alone.

No mortal commands it. No other god can claim it. Magic is Xantheris—a boundless, unknowable force, watching and waiting, yielding only to those who understand that it is no tool, no passive energy to be bent. Each spell cast is a communion with the divine, a test of faith and audacity, and a reminder that magic does not obey. It watches. It judges. It punishes those who would wield it with arrogance.

In this new age, magic’s true nature is revealed: it is not a path of safe study or gentle guidance. It is a dance with a god who does not always give freely, a power that can turn against those who forget that to weave magic is to court the divine—and to risk the fury of Xantheris himself.

With the presence of Xantheris undeniable, mortals turn their gaze inward, seeking to harness his power. Rival schools of thought arise—some revere magic as a divine gift to be studied with care and humility, while others see it as a tool for conquest, a path to dominion over the world. Early duels of spell and will leave their scars upon the land, laying the foundation for conflicts and philosophies that will shape the centuries to come.

From the searing edge of the unknown, Arzathyr descends—a red dragon whose roar shatters the sky and whose shadow smothers the sun. Not merely a beast, but a living cataclysm, he is an immortal terror made flesh, his scales glinting like molten fury and his breath a promise of annihilation. In a single, dreadful instant, he rewrites mortal understanding of power—no longer a mortal struggle for dominance, but a helpless surrender to a force beyond comprehension.

Rhal-Toruun, once a proud city-state of white towers and endless ambition, stood first in Arzathyr’s path. Its walls were strong, its people defiant, but nothing mortal could stand against the fury of the red dragon. In the span of a single night, Rhal-Toruun was reduced to blackened ruin—its name now whispered only in fear, a grim lesson that even the greatest mortal works are but ash in the face of dragonkind’s power.

To behold Arzathyr is to feel the marrow in your bones scream in terror. He is the fury of the earth’s molten heart, the wrath of ancient fires long thought dead. His arrival is not an event, but a reckoning—an inescapable truth that power is neither earned nor given, but seized by claw and flame, leaving only ruin in its wake.

In the smoldering shadow of Arzathyr’s fury, the Seers of Ilmaris emerge, their minds turned not to conquest, but to the silent currents of fate. With crystal lenses and whispered runes, they seek to read the threads of destiny, to understand the shape of things to come in the blood of magic and the breath of the world. Their visions speak of wonder and ruin, of triumphs and tragedies yet to be. In their veiled halls, the future is not written, but glimpsed—each prophecy a fragile truth, each foretelling a warning that even in magic’s embrace, the world’s fate is never certain.

In this pivotal year, J’Thon arises—goddess of symbols, sigils, language, and knowledge. Mortals recognize that spoken words alone cannot hold the weight of history. In her breath, the written word becomes more than memory—it becomes a bridge to the future, a quiet power that outlives the mortal tongue.

At the same time, the Felden find a patron of their own in Faelrick Lightfoot. A god of curiosity, cunning, and clever laughter, Faelrick dances in the spaces between tradition and mischief. He teaches the Felden that joy is a form of resilience, and that cleverness can be as powerful as any blade.

In the year 1800, Khassid learns that the world’s truths are carried in both ink and footstep, in the hush of a library and the gleeful whisper of adventure. The written word and the cunning heart together shape the path of mortals—echoes of a world forever growing and seeking.

In the secret shadows of Varnokh hearts, Yzhira stirs—goddess of cunning and survival, whose whispers slip through the night like the hush of a blade unsheathed. She is the patron of those who refuse to yield, the breath of the hunted and the weapon of the desperate. In every cold-eyed bargain and every quiet kill, Yzhira’s will guides the hand and the mind’s edge.

Among the Varnokh, where strength is honored and weakness devoured, Yzhira’s cunning offers a second path—a promise that the mind can be as sharp as the blade, and that in every silent test of survival, the clever will prevail. Her name is not spoken in prayer, but in the breathless hush of those who endure when all else fails.

A rare celestial alignment bathes Khassid in shimmering light as celestial bodies align in a dance not seen for millennia. This convergence amplifies magical forces, birthing wild surges that warp spells, create new magics, and leave scars upon the land. Hills become molten rivers, forests bloom and wither in a single breath, and the air itself shimmers with an echo of divine will. Amidst this maelstrom, the first whispers of Chronomastery are born—spells that dare to brush against the threads of time itself.

From the chaos of the Starfire Convergence, Tlaxitan ascends—a dark reflection of mortal ambition, the divine embodiment of power’s lustful hunger. Where mortals would bend magic to their will, Tlaxitan rises as a god of tyranny and dominion, the iron shadow in every mortal heart.

Yet even in the shadow of ruin, a gentler voice emerges. Among the Barazûn, Ardena Stoneharp takes form—matron of memory and song. In her breath, memory becomes more than the weight of the past; it becomes a song to guide the living, a thread of hope and history that binds each generation to the next. In the forge’s glow and the hush of old tales, the Barazûn find not just strength, but the quiet power of remembrance..

In the aftermath of the Starfire Convergence, mortal scholars and spellcasters begin to piece together the raw, surging forces they witnessed. The art of Chronomastery is born—an attempt to understand and wield the echoes of time that were glimpsed in the celestial upheaval. These early Chronomasters walk a perilous path, caught between the domains of Xantheris and Illario, their every spell a negotiation with forces that cannot be fully known or trusted.

As mortal scholars wrestle with the mysteries of Chronomastery, the gods themselves cannot stand idle. Illario, god of time and fate, feels his domain tremble with every chronomantic ripple. He confronts Xantheris, god of magic, at the threshold of eternity, each unwilling to yield—Xantheris claims all magic as his blood, while Illario holds that time itself is beyond mortal or divine ownership. It is Aeru who renders their decree: magic that dares to touch the flow of time belongs to both gods, yet ultimately falls under Illario’s supreme will. Thus is born the Covenant of the Hourglass, a divine boundary that binds not just gods, but every mortal who would dare to command the echoes of time.

Spurred by the rise of arcane power and driven by seafaring ambitions, mortal explorers set sail beyond the known shores. These early voyages bring tales of distant lands, rare wonders, and strange magics that deepen Khassid’s hunger for discovery.

In the turning of a new century, mortal hearts beat with the echoes of ambition, conflict, and cunning—each finding divine form in the world.

Thyrron emerges first, a living testament to mortal pride—ambition’s relentless heart given form and voice. His presence fuels the rise of kings and the forging of empires, yet in his shadow also blooms the seeds of overreach and hubris.

Among the Varnokh, Ruzhraak takes form as the god of chaos and war’s fury. He is the storm of battle incarnate, the blood cry of every warrior who sees not only death, but release, in the clash of blades. In Ruzhraak’s eyes, battle is both crucible and communion—a dance of destruction and honor.

For the Felden, it is Thrindle who emerges, a god born from the quiet strength of clever hands and the patient grace of shadows. In Thrindle’s breath, the Felden find the courage to slip unseen through a world that is often unkind—reminding them that cunning is not treachery, but survival’s gentle art.

In the long shadow of Arzathyr’s devastation and the ever-present weight of Xantheris’ will, mortals begin to grasp that magic is no simple tool—it is a force of divine power and mortal peril. The Covenant of Kairith emerges as a fragile promise of order, forged in the ancient halls of the Syl’Aeris and the stone-bastions of human kings.

Crafted by human and elven emissaries, the covenant dictates how spellcraft may be studied and who may bear its burdens. The first arcane academies rise from these accords, bastions of structured knowledge where magic is not merely practiced, but scrutinized, debated, and tempered with caution. Here, fledgling mages learn the weight of every incantation, the cost of every surge of power—each lesson a prayer to keep mortal hubris in check.

Yet not all who walk the paths of magic bow to the covenant’s edicts. In the secret corners of Khassid, those who refuse its strictures vanish into shadowed enclaves—hidden cabals who dare to touch the forbidden, to unlock secrets the covenant would bury. In these secret gatherings, the line between curiosity and obsession blurs, and the echoes of Xantheris’ blood hum with quiet defiance.

The Covenant of Kairith is more than ink and promise—it is the first mortal attempt to balance reverence with ambition, to stand in the shifting current of the divine and declare that magic may be studied, but never truly tamed.

The sanctum-city of Ilmaris, known for its mastery of magical theory, is lost to a catastrophic experiment. Survivors speak of a shimmering vortex that consumed the city—an ominous testament to the peril of wielding what should not be touched.

As trade and exploration weave distant shores together in newfound kinship and rivalry, Morgdhav stirs—a god of oceans, waterways, and the restless winds that cradle mortal ambition. In his breath, mortals learn that the sea is both cradle and grave, each wave a promise of discovery and a test of respect. Those who honor the sea’s fury find his blessing; those who scorn it vanish beneath the waves.

Amid these shifting tides, the Syl’Aeris feel the pulse of hidden truths, and from their nuanced dance with secrets and desire, Myrtharielle arises. She is the quiet song of power unspoken, the mirror of every yearning heart, the shadowed current beneath the surface that binds and breaks in equal measure.

For the Barazûn, the quiet weight of death is no less sacred. In the hush of tomb and the vigil of the crypt, Norvok Ironshroud emerges—a god of solemnity and final rest, whose presence guards the sanctity of ancestors long gone. In Norvok’s name, the Barazûn learn that death is not an end, but a promise kept by stone and silence.

In the fierce heart of the Varnokh, Torkarn is born—embodiment of the storm’s wrath and its cleansing fury. He is the tempest that breaks and remakes, the thunderous breath that shatters walls and forges new paths. For the Varnokh, Torkarn is not merely destruction, but the hammer that tests and tempers, reshaping the world in the crucible of storm and surge..

In honor of Morgdhav and in fear of the storm’s wrath, coastal kingdoms forge the Pact of Seafarers. Trade and exploration flourish beneath this fragile peace, though the ocean’s secrets remain ever just beyond mortal reach.

As ambition swells and mortal hearts burn with longing, Miné stirs—greed and chaos congealing in divine skin, a goddess born of hunger’s ruinous edge. She whispers in every covetous breath and glints in the hoarded gold of those who would see the world bent beneath their will.

In the depths of the mountains, the Barazûn delve ever deeper, driven by a curiosity that burns brighter than any forge. Here, Dorran Deepdelve takes form—a god of patient excavation and the reverent unearthing of stone’s ancient secrets. In his name, the hammer does not break, but reveals.

For the Felden, the road winds further still, and in each quiet step they find the breath of Veltryss, The Silent Guide. In her hush, luck and chance are no longer games of fate, but quiet companions on every journey—a promise that the path may be uncharted, but never empty.

Beneath the watchful gaze of Morgdhav, mortal explorers brave the deep to claim the Morgdhavian Archipelago—emerald isles cradled by storm and tide. Here, harbors become sanctuaries, and mortal ambition meets the sea’s quiet, inexorable power. In this place, the breath of the ocean becomes both promise and warning, echoing the rhythms of gods and mortals alike.

In a world that teeters on the edge of ambition and ruin, Valia takes form—goddess of the steadfast shield and the unyielding heart. She is the courageous spirit born of the mortal need to guard what matters most, the quiet vow that echoes in every shield raised and every stand taken when all else falters.

Among the Varnokh, the hunger for dominion finds new voice as Ghrakhaal, The Hoardfather emerges—a god of wealth, ambition, and the relentless pursuit of power. In his shadow, the gleam of gold and the weight of iron become one—each hoard a testament to mortal desire and divine will intertwined.

In the hush of hidden halls and the flicker of forbidden candles, the Circle of Ashes emerges. Those who reject the Covenant’s chains gather in secret—rogue mages who believe the blood of Xantheris is not to be caged by mortal law. Their defiance will echo through the ages, a name whispered in both dread and reverence: the Circle of Ashes, where power is not a gift to be regulated, but a truth to be claimed.

The seas become both path and peril as Morgdhav’s dominion expands. Sailors who offer him reverence find fortune and safe passage; those who scorn him vanish beneath the waves, lost to the silent embrace of the deep.