[ ??? - Rivers of Light ]
*Spoke was a wise old lady, who knew too much about history.*
"Once upon a time....
Above the highest reach of mortal sight, beyond the drifting sea of clouds and the reach of storms, there existed a realm known as Elythra.
A kingdom suspended in the heavens.
Its continents wandered the skies like sacred stars, bound together by rivers of light that flowed beneath marble cities and golden sanctuaries. Countless wings crossed its radiant horizon — the servants of light, guardians born from divine flame, whose songs carried across the heavens like distant choirs. To mortals below, Elythra was not merely a place. It was paradise itself.
Yet beneath creation, where light dared not wander, another realm stirred.
Arth'zyle.
A world without dawn.
Its lands were swallowed by endless darkness, where mountains twisted like broken bones and oceans moved without reflection. From the abyss came the fallen beings, creatures shaped by hatred, despair, and the remnants of forgotten gods. They watched the heavens with hollow eyes, envying the brilliance of Elythra.
And in time, envy became war.
The skies split open.
The servants of light descended from the heavens clad in radiant armor, while the abyss answered with shadows vast enough to consume entire lands. Cities burned among the clouds. Sacred towers collapsed into the storms below. For centuries, order and chaos clashed beneath shattered skies, neither willing to yield the throne of creation.
Though victorious, Elythra did not emerge untouched.
Its lands lay wounded.
Its guardians diminished.
And the heavens mourned.
It was then, amidst the silence after war. A goddess wept with sorrow — one tear had fell from the skies.
It descended beyond the clouds, beyond the storms, crossing the vast emptiness between gods and mortals until it struck the earth below with a tremor that shook forests, rivers, and mountains alike. Villagers fled in fear as the land cracked open beneath the night sky.
But within the crater, there was no destruction.
Only a child.
Wrapped in pale light, untouched by flame or dust, the infant rested in silence beneath the rain. A pair of humble farmers found the child before dawn and carried him home as though guided by fate itself.
They named him Arcadius.
For they believed the heavens had entrusted them with a miracle.
Years passed, and whispers spread beyond the mortal lands.
A servant of light descended from Elythra itself, wings illuminating the fields beneath the night. Before the child, the divine being offered a blessing — a mark said to be granted only to those chosen by prophecy.
The child would restore harmony.
The child would become mankind's hope.
For while peace returned to the heavens, Elythra remained burdened by an eternal duty: to stand against the horrors of Arth'zyle and prevent the abyss from swallowing creation whole.
But prophecy is fragile.
And even light casts shadows.
From the depths of Arth'zyle, a fallen being reached the child long before the heavens realized their mistake. Corruption seeped into his soul like poison beneath clear water. The blessing once meant to guide him became twisted by darkness.
Then, one night, the skies changed.
Thunder roared across the heavens.
The stars vanished behind storms.
And within a home once filled with warmth, blood stained the floorboards.
The child of prophecy had slaughtered the couple who raised him.
By dawn, he was gone.
Far above the clouds, the goddess recieved a devastating truth, and the gates of Elythra stood silent beneath gathering darkness.
For the heavens understood what had come to pass.
The chosen child had fallen.
The eternals, paragons of light, has come to a conclusion...
They've created something who could destroy the heaven.
And they feared what was to come."