Dawn of Legends

And it came to pass that centuries had passed since the first great war, and the world that once lay in ruin was restored. The western nations, which had suffered greatly beneath the wrath of the Demon Kings, were rebuilt, and their people flourished once more beneath the rule of the Gods.

Yet though the land was mended and peace had returned, the hearts of the Gods remained burdened, for the memory of Yggdrasil's defiance lingered like a shadow upon their pride. They spoke no word of their grudge, nor did they move against her, for they knew well the power that had given her form. And so, they watched from afar, their thoughts ever restless.

But in the east, the lands of the Immortals thrived in harmony. Having vanquished the enemies that had once plagued them, they now lived in prosperity, their wisdom deepened through centuries of cultivation. Among them, there was no strife, no war, only the pursuit of greater understanding.

And in those days, the Gods of the west, though mighty, grew uneasy, for a question arose in their midst, one that none among them could answer: "Who is the one that has created this world?"

And their unease turned to fear, for they knew in their hearts that without faith, they would cease to be. If their people turned to another, if they placed their faith elsewhere, then the Gods themselves would perish into nothingness.

And they spake among themselves, saying, "If we do not know our own beginning, then how can we lay claim to the heavens? If the one who shaped this world is not among us, then where does our authority lie?"

And thus, they resolved to seek the truth of creation.

They sent forth their mortal warriors, their most devoted believers, to search the land, from the burning sands of the south to the frozen peaks of the north. Through forests untouched by time, across rivers that had never been crossed, they sought with fervent hearts.

And lo, after many years, a discovery was made. In the farthest reaches of the north, where the winds howled like spirits lost to time, there lay a great mountain of ice and stone. And within its depths, hidden beneath the veil of eternal winter, they found a monument of ancient craft, a relic untouched by the hands of mortals or gods.

Upon its surface were words etched in a language older than the oldest tongue, and though many could not be deciphered, there was one passage they could read:

"The future of this world shall be the decision of the living. If the world ends, everything will be reborn, and those that live in the past shall be forgotten.

And the warriors who stood before the monument trembled, for they understood not its full meaning, yet its weight bore heavily upon their souls.

And they took this knowledge to the Gods, but though the deities beheld the inscription, they could neither alter it nor divine its deeper purpose. Yet they knew this truth—it spoke of an end, of a cycle that none could escape.

And the fear that had lurked within their hearts grew stronger, for now they understood: there was one who had shaped this world, and it was not them.

And so they resolved to seek the one they did not know, the unseen force that had woven existence. And they spake among themselves, saying, "If we do not find the One, then one day, we shall be forgotten. And what is forgotten shall cease to be."

Thus, they plotted in secret, seeking the path to the one who did not speak, the one who had never revealed itself.

But in the forests of the west, where the World Tree stood in majesty, Yggdrasil walked among the mortals in her maiden form, clad in robes woven of light and shadow.

And the people, both Elf and Human alike, beheld her and called her the Mother of the Land, the Keeper of Wisdom. For she dwelt among them, walking as one of their own, and they gathered before her as children before a mother.

And she taught them of many things—of the magic that flowed through the world, of the histories of those who came before, and of the truths that had been forgotten.

And she spake, saying, "The world was not made by the hands of those you call Gods, nor was it forged by the will of mortals. There is one who shaped all things, who has watched from the beginning and shall watch until the end."

And they asked her, saying, "Who is this one that you speak of? Why does He not walk among us?"

And she answered them, "He is the Architect, the silent weaver of existence. He has no need for temples, nor does He hunger for worship. His hands formed the heavens and the earth, but He does not command, nor does He seek dominion. His will is written in the course of time, and His presence is known not through voice, but through the breath of the world itself."

And the people listened, and their hearts were stirred.

But the words of Yggdrasil did not go unheard, for the Gods, in their searching, learned of what she had spoken.

And they were struck with fear, for now they knew the name of the one they had sought. And they spake among themselves, saying, "The Creator has been named, and He does not seek worship. If the mortals turn to Him, then what shall become of us?"

And thus, their fear turned to wrath, and the seed of a great conflict was sown.