"Desist! I Logos shall put on a show and try to put Order in a realm built upon Chaos! Hahahaha! Obey me, the Fool King of Order!" cried Vesetec in mockery. On swift wing did Logos fly as the fires of corruption sought the delicate foundation of the Great Work, intent on shielding it himself. There was no need, for Teknall, Architect of its beauty sought to defend its creation, dismissing the fire.

Logos cast his own blade, a slim length of darkness. It didn’t glow, or burn, or waver. In fact, it almost looked solid for something made entirely of energy. The blade was a perfect representation of the king: total control. He flickered to the scroll with the blade raised, seeking to strike down the God of chaos before further corruption would seep in but Kyre, God of conflicts yet to come, stopped the foe.

With stern countenance did he take his place alongside Teknall, eye’s flashing dangerously as he spread his wings protectively over the design. “Desist,” came the order to Vesetec yet again. Logos was spared piercing the fiend’s heart as he was distracted by the outburst of Zephyrion.

His ethereal hair blown back, his feathers ruffling in the perverse display of power. An impetulent child, screaming in the dark for a light. That is all Logos saw as the god of change levied threats and warning against him. To change was against the very nature of the Divine. Logos would teach this lesson to Zephyrion. It would be a painful one.

When Julkolfyr adorned his crown of Shadow, Logos said nothing. A claim was merely that, a claim. One could not contest with the mandate of Fate itself. One could not undo that which was carved into the Road.

And then it was time.


“Let it begin,” Logos acknowledged to Vowzra, as Fate drew the book of creation to himself. Order stood beside Time, and bowed his head.



There was no explosion.

No rush of air and heat. No sudden expanse of potential. No base or benign creation.

He does not open his eyes for some time.

Like the Road, he remains perfectly tranquil and still. He focuses on the stake until he stops thinking about the Road, until all other thoughts are gone, and until the very feel of the All against his wings disappears.

There is yet another new sensation in his eyes. The blackness of his closed eyelids bleeds dark red. The color is everywhere, and it stings his closed eyes.

It will be a very long time until he opens them.

The Void, his siblings, and his thoughts all disappear. His eyes bleed red from the brightness, though he does not open them. There is only the light. He is in his own world crafting his creation, his Order, and it grows under his care.

The light increases and makes his eyelids bleed again, this time from red to white. The color is blinding, and it is everywhere. He walks under the light for a million footsteps. Where others Were, Logos would always walk.

With a heavy footstep, Logos arrived at the end of the Road and stepped into reality.

He opens his eyes.

Around him was Julkolfyr’s darkness. It filled the void of cold space around them, interwoven with his own Law, and where the darkness went his Law would follow. Beneath him floated a desolate virgin world, no doubt Fate’s intended canvas for them, ringed with the raw material.

Logos felt himself, his essence burned into the very fabric of this universe. The world beneath them was formed from his Laws.

It was formed by more than just his Law.

Logos brought himself through the air until he was within reasonable speaking distance of the other gods. “We have failed.” he said in his unnaturally resonant voice. “Even with our intent in place, Discord has one again crept into the world.”

The god of Order did not sound angry. Nor disappointed. Nor sad.

It was a statement. Nothing more.

His gaze fell upon the Architect, who has inscribed his laws into the great Design. His gaze was stern and piercing, seeming to dissect the mason god down to his very essence with eyes alone.

“I know,” Logos said. “You are...” he paused, “—blameless. I should thank you for designing the Great Work, Teknall. I could not have done it myself.” It was a rare thing for Order to admit what few limitation he had. “For this and for your defense against its further corruption, I will grant you a boon. Ask me what you will when you see fit, and if it is within my power, I shall grant it.”

To Toun, his eyes focused for the longest time on the blue eye otherwise marring the flawless porcelain face. “You have suffered for your defense of the Great Work. To you, a boon I would likewise grant,” he paused for a moment, and a featureless finger reached out to rest against Toun’s face. “I would ask that you hold onto the pain we now feel. We are immortal, we have the most time, so all the pain that accompanies a single failure becomes a sum of agony in even our earliest experiences. Time does not discriminate, but age does. For you and I are ageless, not timeless. There will be no end to our sorrow."

Logos then turned to the war god. “Kyre, for stopping Vestec from further corrupting the Work. I would name you the Divine Sword. I would give you my thanks and a boon. Your actions in the name of Order will not be forgotten. Do not oppose me.”

He paused before Vulamera's form, and the shadow of something crossed his eyes. “It is a burden to take all of creation into one’s self. I offer my eternal gratitude that it was shielded from corruption, if even for a few moments. When all is made right, you will receive a gift for your actions that will make all others tremble.”

Logos turned around and regarded each of the others Gods. The deities that had disgusted him and infused their despicable essence into the universe were already gone, twisting and shaping the earth below to their liking.

“Each of you go,” he said. “Find your treacherous siblings. Tell them that they killed this world before it even began. And that I leave them all to wallow in it.”

He looked beyond now, into the reaches of space. The cosmos were a cold and dark, when taken in its mean. A vast nothingness filled with points of light so tiny as to seem insignificant. Somewhere out there, Ull’Yang had left their numbers and burned in terrible glory. He would seek the god in time…

He knew that out there in those reaches were things left unexplored. The errs of the other gods, their malicious intent crawling in the nothing. Already this reality had begun to die do to their neglect. Spheres of negation sought to undo the fabric.

In his mind, the plans had already begun to take hold. The varying paths were branching off the nigh infinite possibilities, yet being narrowed down one by one.

It would be corrected. Fate and Almu’shrar be damned.

“Tell them I am Order,” he said in a voice that was quite calm. “But I am not. For while I am order over chaos, I am also sanity over emotion. I am the undefeated champion of the immortal game. I am the apex of all divine life, and I will usher this world into a new golden age of balance and perfection.”

The tip of his infinite wings glowed white with ethereal light, and before he shot forth into eternity, they could hear his final whisper as a warning. His eyes locked with those of Julkolfyr’s.

“I am Logos, and I am the ruler of all things.”

As Teknall was about to confront Vestec himself, other gods stepped in. Kyre had swiftly stepped forwards and restrained Vestec's hand, preventing its corrupting influence from touching the Plan. Logos had interposed himself once more and had actually conjured a sword to smite the Corrupter when Niciel dived in to stop him, sending out a blast of energy to strike all who were in the fray. This blast struck Teknall and knocked him onto his back. He was covered with searing pain as the light burned his skin. But, then, as quickly as it had came, it passed, and Teknall was left only slightly dazed and with a nasty sunburn. However, the memory remained. While Niciel may have been noble in her intent, her actions were harmful.

When Teknall got up, he saw that things had cooled off somewhat. Vestec had been dragged off by Zephyrion into some sort of game. Jvan and Kyre were guarding Slough, whom Teknall realised with a pang of guilt had been neglected, perhaps dangerously so, in the scuffle over the Plan. Julkofyr chided Logos and Niciel on their claimed superiority, all politics beyond Teknall's care. But then Julkofyr made an addition to the Plan that horrified even Teknall. Perfect spheres of annihilation, within which not even space existed. They were limited in number, but potentially catastrophic to the longevity of the Universe and the creations within. But it was done now. They would have to control these spheres, contain them if possible, but they would have time, for the Universe would be vast and it would take untold eons for them to wreak any serious harm. Teknall did what he could to integrate the Darkness

Then, evidently fed up with all the meddling going on, Vulamera finally made a physical manifestation of herself, cocooning the Universal Blueprint within her form. It was a brave move, yet Teknall could sense that this was soon to come to an end.

Then, summoned abruptly by Fate and Amul'Sharar, the time came. The Universal Blueprint, the Codex of Creation, came to Fate's hand. Then Teknall was pulled inwards, sucked in as though the whole void was draining into a singularity. This was the end...

...and this was the beginning.

The initial expansion of the Universe was deafening, but it was soon over as Teknall was unable to perceive the passage of time. With nothing yet formed, Teknall fell into a near-comatose state, watching half-consciously as stars, nebulae, galaxies and eventually planets. It was only after these planets had formed did Teknall awaken.

He found himself floating above a barren world, Galbar, and among him were the other gods. While some moved off to do their things and sculpt the planet to their will, Teknall continued to drift in orbit above the planet, in that state of consciousness ascribed to those who have just woken from a deep sleep but are yet to feel awake. Whether he was there for minutes or millennia he did not know. He was stirred when Logos spoke to him, surprisingly humbly, and offered him praise.

"Well, thank you," Teknall replied, grateful, "I shall remember that."

Logos went and spoke with a few of the other gods, and then flew off into the depths of space. Teknall watched as he left, then looked down at Galbar below. Already, there were oceans, ice caps, mountains, and even life. He decided that it was time for him to join in this new project, that of terraforming Galbar.

By willing it, Teknall descended gently to the surface of the planet, and upon its rocky surface he began to walk.

The steady dripping of dew from the leaves melded with the sound of twigs snapping underfoot in the nascent Deepwood, life's song already being sung. All manner of trees sprouted from the fertile dirt with many an odd creature lurking in the shadows of the canopy. All was serene down below in this part of the forest, until it was violently uprooted and flung into the air by a great tempest that heralded the Storm King's arrival.

Zephyrion eyed this new place, trying to catch a glimpse of nature in all its beauty yet failing as his very presence destroyed the forest. Painfully aware of the destruction that his mere presence was causing, he quickly shifted into the form of a humanoid composed of pure, swirling mist. This was more gentle and peaceful than some howling vortex. He then wandered, seeing the many creatures that sheltered in these woods. It was a strange thing that such baser creations spawned from Slough had already nested made this place their home, and yet Zephyrion--Supreme Being that he was--had no such abode suitable for a deity of his power. In truth, none of the gods had carved out a home for themselves!

Impulsively, Zephyrion felt an urge to build a grand palace for himself that very moment. Nothing short of a palace would reflect his splendor; it would have to be pristine and beautiful beyond belief. But he was no builder...

"I am sorry, little ones, but I must depart!" Zephyrion explained to the mindless animals that scurried about in his vision, his words disrupting the forest's tranquility and sending them fleeing into the distance. But that was no matter; before they could bound ten feet the First Gale was gone.

Teknall had been walking for what must have been millenia. He had seen the terrain and features which some of the other gods had sculpted- the Shattered Plains, the Fractal Sea, ice caps, seasons, the Deepwood, Niciel's Valley of Peace. He had seen it all, and marvelled in the creation, but this canvas of a world was still mostly empty, a negative space yearning to be filled. Teknall would need to leave his own mark on this world, so he walked on, searching for the right place to start building.

A forceful wind blew up the bleak sands of the barren flatlands, and as the clouds parted there was a dust devil far too large to have simply formed on nature's volition. The cackling eyes of lightning from within would reveal it as Zephyrion, if the god's divine presence hadn't already alerted Teknall to his presence. "Hello brother! I have come looking for you!" Zephyrion ecstatically called out.

"Is that so?" Teknall replied, raising his voice to be heard over Zephyrion's howling winds. This moment of communication amidst the years of solitude was welcome to Teknall. "What is it that you want?"

"I have a vision," the winds cried out as Zephyrion billowed closer. "...of a grand fortress, floating atop a mountain that soars through the sky! It would be the jewel upon the crown of the heavens; it would be a palace fit to be the throne of a god of the winds! The Lord of change himself; he who created this world!" He allowed some time for the gravity of these words to sink in, then continued on, "But alas, I do not think that I am one for building things. Will you lend me your service, brother?"

Teknall pondered this offer for a moment, envisioning the grand building within his mind. "A grand palace of stone, metals and gems, aloft on the Winds of Change. A testament to the creative power of the gods," Teknall said, "I accept your offer. I shall build a grand palace indeed. Show me where you want it."

Admittedly, Zephyrion was perturbed by that question. Where did he want it? He thought on this for several moments, then arbitarily and spontaneously commanded a lightning bolt to strike some ways in the distance as a marker. "There! It matters little where you put the palace; once it's done I'll just carry it wherever I like. Why would I keep it in one place?"

Teknall chuckled a little. Of course Zephyrion wouldn't care. Looking over to where Zephyrion had pointed, Teknall walked over to the location and studied the ground. If Zephyrion was going to be picking it up and throwing it around, then the castle would need to be built on sturdy foundations. From the pocket in his leather apron, he removed a pickaxe and swung it at the ground. Construction had begun.

After some time, how long did not matter on this primordial planet, Teknall's work had been completed. It was a grand palace indeed, one which would be a spectacular sight for all to see. It was made of a polished white stone, dazzling brilliantly in the sunlight. Spires, pillars and bridges adorned the palace, and most of the palace rooms were pagodas and other open spaces, as considerations to the nature of the god who commissioned the work. Decorating the palace were precious stones, some larger than any miner could have possibly expected to find, and its walls were accentuated by engravings and lines of gold, silver, platinum and orichalcum. This citadel was a masterpiece of Teknall's, both in its beauty and its engineering, and it held the essence of Teknall in its stone walls just as Zephyrion's essence would be reflected in the magic which would carry it through the sky.

Zephyrion watched in silent awe as the Divine Mason worked, until the construction began to draw to an end. The Skylord added the final touch: cresting the highest spire of that grand citadel was a massive gemstone, distilled from the laughing winds and crisp breezes that Zephyrion's body gave off. Its skyblue luster was a sight that made the gleaming waters of the oceans look like putrid sludge, their radiance like a firefly held next the sun. Stored within that gem Zephyrion poured his Divine Might, every last ounce of power that he had under the prismatic gem shone even brighter with power and the air throbbed with energy. By its magic, the very ground began to crack. The gem's magic brought the very foundations of the palace into the air, and by Zephyrion's will every cloud within a thousand leagues flew to rest beneath the Celestial Citadel and bear its crushing weight. Blown by a thousand zephyrs, those clouds carried it like a prince's litter. Brought to soar until it rested the cradle of the heavens, Galbar below was just another sparkling gemstone.

Behind the silvery mask the god of death slept. Keeping his aura, his very presence as small as possible. He had seen Slough in her fragile shape from a distance. Afraid that his very presence might inflict pain upon her, he kept himself in torpor. But when Fate invoked the Shattering Disunity, Reathos was forced awake. As he was pulled into Creation itself. As he passed the blinding white light he could only hope that Slough would survive. For without life there was no death. Before he very much realized what had happened, he floated above Galbar. A dead, barren planet. A blank canvas that would soon be filled. The gods made their planetfall. One after another swiftly descended onto the planet’s surface. Some shattering the rocks and breaking the laws of physics itself in the process. Others creating a pink mist around the mountains. But when he saw the green forest of Slough, he let out a sigh of relief. The only god that truly mattered in his eyes made it.

But soon his task would begin. And he had to be prepared to capture the souls of the dead. Obviously he alone couldn’t gather up all the souls. Not for long. Soon there would be life across the entire planet. And he couldn’t be everywhere at the same time. A solution had to be found. Pondering upon this, he descended down to the surface. With a serene grace he touched down upon the rocks and dust. As if he came down stairs. The smell already got nicer. Some god probably enhanced the atmosphere. But there was no time to enjoy the little things of creation. He had a task. Dutifully he wandered down into a cave. His lantern illuminating his passage in a purple glow. Still questioning how he could fulfill his tasks. Unknowingly going deeper and deeper into the bowls of Galbar. Eventually he found himself in one of the deepest, most hidden places of the planet. The place felt warmer than the surface due to his proximity to the core. The cave he stood in was rather massive.

And it was there where he got an idea. Putting his lantern down, he walked up towards the center of the place and touched the stone ground. Rising from below the rocky surface a black obelisk rose towards the ceiling. Getting halfway there before it stopped growing. With his armored hand, Reathos touched the obelisk, imbuing it with power. Slowly the warmth surrounding the place got drained from the subterranean hall. Thus the first Wraith Stone was made. A magnet for damned souls. Those who died would come here, and remain in the large stone hall. Forever.

Though Reathos knew that people would find it. By accident, or because they searched for it. The cave had to be protected. In fact, all future Wraith Stones would have to be protected. Even against gods! No mortal creature could stand against the force of a god. So he had to make something, a presence of himself. He would have to leave a piece of himself in the cave. Once more he touched the ground around the obelisk. The metals of the ground began to gather, forming links and chains. The chains winded parts of themselves around the monolith. While the other half out stretched towards Reathos. Then, with his black, boney hand he grabbed through his chest at his very essence. Even for a god the process was pure agony. But it had to be done. A part of him had to remain there. With all his power he drew part of him out. The incorporeal essence, exposed to the real world would swiftly try to take shape. But not before the chains shot forward and locked around the essence. Once the Avatar was formed, the chains came out of his back, attaching him to the obelisk. And all future ones too. The creature looked humanoid, but without any defining features. Neither in gender nor in appearance. Dressed in an armor of bones and skulls. It was forever destined to stand vigil over the Wraith Stones.

Ilunabar heard her sister’s words and smiled, it was good to see someone who had the same foresight as her. She started to form a response, however something else called her immediate attention.

At first it was the bizarre event involving Ull’Yang, however the muse realized that such phenomenon was merely a small happening of something way larger. The Codex, the script of the creation, was now in Fate’s hands.

Something about this annoyed Ilunabar. At first she thought it was about the mysteries of the higher deity and the fundamental question about the why of the creation of deities. Soon however, as she was dragged closer and closer to the book, she realized it was something much simpler…

The dissonance between the styles of two storytellers. One saw a disunited document, the other saw a perfectly harmonious narrative among the clashing forces.

By the time of the realization Ilunabar, and most her simblings, were already in the vortex created by Fate and the book. Once again she felt her being melt as all of her senses were flooded by something far beyond her comprehension. The prudent decision was to shut down and wait for the universe to take shape...

But she couldn’t look away! Fate was the ultimate composer of all possible chronicles, but Ilunabar too had a history to write! It was merely a transcription of someone else’s work, in the great play of destiny she was merely an actress, perhaps even less, nothing but a stage prop, but even then… even then…

Despite the blindness caused by the eruption of all things, the muse started to write. It was a simple record of what was taking place, a derivative history of the story Fate had set.



Then it all started to cool down.

A brown blur was in front of her, and she could hear her siblings talking, but no word could be discerned thanks to an incessant hum. Now the Muse could finally close her eyes and rest.

Things started to get better bit by bit, she didn’t know how much time she stood there waiting, but when the noise finally went away and she opened her eyes the world in front of her had changed a lot. There was blue, green, white and a chaotic mix of grey spreading across it.

She heard Logos going on about his many things. Something about him had struck Ilunabar on the wrong way from the start, he was such a basic existence, all of his being was the molding clay of other gods, yet he barked so loud. Back in the Before-Creation this annoyed her, she saw it as outrageous arrogance, but now that she was more calm the anger was exchanged for pity, his pretensions looked more logical.

“If my harp or Teknall’s stone could speak they too would allegate that what they created was theirs”

Speaking of creation…

“Come, Dreamweaver” she commanded, and the harp formed on her hand. She was about to start her work when a sudden glimpse of glitter caught her eyes.

She flew into the planet and soon arrived at something quite amazing “Ah?” she said as she gazed upon the Celestial Citadel. “I have to say Teknall, I underestimated you. I thought you would be limited to the brute creations but now I can see that you are a master of the refined arts too”

Perhaps it was her sensitivity to matters of the mind, or the still vulnerable state of her sanity (courtesy of Vestec), but Vulamera found herself unable to maintain consciousness as the void-before-world lit up with color and sound. She tried. Oh, she tried- but the strength of it all just overwhelmed her senses. In those few moments before she slipped into slumber, the Goddess of Intelligence perceived something absolutely amazing.

The universe.
It was expanding from a single infinitely small point of infinite mass and infinite density.

It felt as though Fate had garnered the entirety of creation- all that was, is and shall be- into one object. That object, of course, was the Great Work: The Codex of Creation.

Then all went dark, and eons past as Transcendent Mother slept.

When she slowly regained awareness, everything was different, nothing was as it had been, nor would it ever be again. The Codex of Creation was not just within her, it was her. It had been absorbed into her intangible essence. She could feel it, every word, every note, every blemish, all pulsating like a heartbeat. Even further, the very nature of the Great Work had been twisted by Amul'Sharar's mysterious will- he had added many chapters to the Book, each one written in an absurdly detailed language that the Scribe of Souls could not decipher. If the other Gods were children to her, then the sheer complexity of Amul's words made it clear that she was naught but an idiot infant to him. The letters shook to her core with an eldritch power.

After what felt like an infinite span of time, Vulamera was drawn out of her intense study by the sound of foolishness crashing into the previously un-scarred world. Zephyrion's idiocy had torn viciously into the vulnerable planet below. He fell like an asteroid, ripping apart vast chunks of the lovely earth. Why? What purpose could this destruction serve? Vulamera knew, at that exact moment, that Zephyrion would be beyond hope. Of all the Child Gods, the Puppet-Wind was most beyond salvation.

Then, the Shadow of Revelations had an idea.

She garnered together her holy might, and caged it as a single concentration of spherical force. After a moment- or a millennium, there was no difference to her- of intelligent planning, she set her power loose on the rocky materials orbiting the equally rocky world. An invisible hand swept through the clouds of rubble, gathering them each together. They changed color as they moved through the void, turning grey or white by the will of Vulamera. Galbar accomplished thousands of rotations around the sun while the Goddess toiled passionately, and she rotated with it.

In time, it was complete.

The planet's new moon shone like a polished pearl. She named it "Unitas", a name that would translate to "Unity" from a language that Vulamera somehow knew she would eventually create.

Only... it was not enough. This place, this world, was made not from a unified voice speaking, but from many discordant voices shouting. The moon would be Galbar's first true view of the universe without, so should it not reflect the conflicted nature of that universe? Vulamera certainly thought it should.

She once more manifested herself into a dense, metallic sphere of onyx-black. This was becoming a favored form of hers- so simple yet so efficient! Taking inspiration again from the Fool-child of Change, she prepared to impact herself with the moon... then stopped in epiphany. Inefficient, she realized, Unnecessarily brute force is far from the path of knowledge. She resolved, for the second time, to only use as much power as absolutely needed to achieve her chosen ends.

The black ball that was her swelled in mass, growing to half the size of Unitas. It rumbled, shook with divine power, and a beam of fierce red energy suddenly leaped from it. The beam began slicing into the natural satellite with exact precision. As if she were a marble sculptor, Vulamera utilized cautious aim to cut this single moon into eight smaller ones. Each of them measured to be almost perfectly spherical in shape (with the exception of number six), but yet each unique all the same.

The first and second moons were both crafted from the blackest remnants of Unitas. They shone less like pearls and more like obsidian, their utterly dark surfaces blending into the nighttime skies. She named the first Lex- "Law"- and its twin was called Cogitare- "Think".

The third and fourth were the anathema to the first and second, their immaculate white contrasting against the pitch darkness of space. They would forever hang side by side, following the same orbital path all the while. Like two milky eyes, forever watching, forever knowing. "Vigilate et Scitis", the Shadow of Revelations whispered.

The fifth was alone in its earthy composition. For while all the moons were made of the earth of Galbar, this one had been gathered together from only from Unitas's most metal, rocky salvages. Its otherwise bland surface was flecked with sparkles of iron, copper or diamond. "Auricolor: Golden."

The sixth was... well, completely un-flawed. Nothing special nor unusual hid in the grey plains it was made from. Perfectly spherical, entirely smooth, entirely gray in almost every way. Not a single mark nor black spot covered its surface. Perfectus.

The seventh was in every way the opposite of the imperfectly perfect Perfectus. It was marred and scarred, torn and burned. The whole of the moon was less of a sphere and more of a lumpy oval, for it had been formed by harshly smashing together whatever pieces remained when the others were finished. If one descended to its surface, they would find a world that looked as if some horrific disaster had ravaged all in sight. It was oddly reminiscent of war. Vulamera could almost imagine marching armies of stern-faced men, each clad in gleaming steel.
"This one will be Periditus: lost, destroyed, ruined. No other name could fit."

Ah, but the eighth! Whereas five was unique in composition, eight was utterly solitary in beauty. It was not made simply by ramming various bits of Unitas's corpse together, but instead it was formed personally, by Vulamera's own hand. It made little sense in the technical term of the word, but that was its glory. She used the most strange mathematical equations to decide the appearance of eight. This moon was warped into fractal shapes, made of the most complex geometric mountains, and marked by the most mathematically crafted valleys that Vulamera could imagine. It would be forever "Mirus".

Vulamera gifted Logos with the first moon, for she had dubbed it Lex in his eternal honor. It was the grandest of all, being the only among them who's size is great enough to trap an (very, very weak) atmosphere. It's colour mimicked the grey wings of the King so perfectly that it was barely visible from Galbar: only the most keen of star-gazers would spy its shadowy surface. "This one is to your glory, Logos. Small and insignificant, I know, but it is nonetheless the grandest of my creations which can be gifted to you."

Its sister moon, Cogitare, belonged to the Scribe herself. It was cloaked in a darkness even deeper than first's; so deep, in fact, that it was totally invisible to Galbar. It would only be known through the small, round empty space it left on the canvas of night. Vulamera also made a firm claim on Vigilate and Scitis, who would be known formally as the Eyes of the Scribe, where she would watch and record all Galbar's happenings.

Teknall, she spoke to the Artisan of Divinity, the Fifth of my moons, the one littered with precious metals and rare stones, is yours. It is a small and mostly useless gift, I'm aware, but take it as a gesture of good will; a 'thankyou' for your creation of and protection of the Codex of Creation, which is now in my possession should you ever need it."

Vulamera sighed. Telepathic communication was tiresome, however necessary it may be to the accurate expression of divine ideas. Her next message found its way to Kyre:

"The Warrior of Gods! As you've probably noticed, I have created 7 moons around this little world of ours. None of them are truly useful, but nonetheless, I feel I owe you a 'thankyou' for your contribution to and, more importantly, protection of the Great Work. I am sorry that it is impossible for me to give more, for your contribution to the Great Work was strong. You may have the sixth moon, Periditus.

"I think you'll find the moon is a reflection of yourself, in many ways. It is wartorn, violent in apperance. Yet... a strong force lingers. A resilience. I hope you will appreciate its imperfect beauty, for can there be any other kind?"

Speaking of imperfect...

Number 7 was artificially immaculate, flawlessly flawed. Could a more fitting mirror exist for one such as Toun? No, no it could not. "Toun, Porcelain Sire, I grant you the most perfect of my creations thus far. It is not flawless, for nothing made can be, but I've done what I can to reflect your standards. I am sorry that it is impossible for me to give more, for your contribution to the Great Work was strong."

Now, the last of her precious moons was to be given away. Mirus, Vulamera could not deny, was her favorite. And here she was, about to give one of her favorite creations to one of her least favorite siblings. Of course, she was determined to have no enemies, so thus sacrifice is absolutely needed.

"Jvan," she tried to hide the bitterness in her tone, "I know that you despise me. In that void-before-world, all was laid bare, even our thoughts. You wish that I was like you. Why? Is not the greatest beauty diversity? Would you have us all conform to your idea of artistry, thus leaving the universe bare of uniqueness? No. It shall not be done. If I chose not to exist in this realm, such is my choice and my destiny. Indeed my destiny, for each of the Gods have a natural form- yourself included- and to have no form is mine. I cannot change that. I can take other forms, I can shift myself to other shapes, but each would be a lie, for by nature I am naught. I will not deny my nature, All-Beauty.

"However, I have deigned to gift you something. I have crafted it by my own mind, specifically for the purpose of beauty, in a gesture of goodwill to you. For how can you judge an artist before you have seen her work? Before you hate me any further, gaze upon my crafts, not upon my body. That is not the true measure of a creator. The eighth moon, Mirus, is yours."

"Oh, and regarding my deference of the Codex rather than the Egg of Slough: Life cannot exist without the universe, dear Jvan, therefore the universe must be protected first. Life is easily created by any of us. Furthermore, we could gain the power- over much time, albeit- to do so naturally, as Slough does now. But who among us will or can create a universe all their own? I refuse to defend one God while the whole of existence lays at stake."

Having finished her little debate, Vulamera floated down to the cold surface of Cogitare, preparing to enter a trance of meditation, where she could explore her own mind. She had not yet had the opportunity to honestly explore her domain, afterall. Or perhaps she should spend her time unraveling the mystery of the Codex? It mattered not. The Transcendent Mother was nothing if not patient. She would learn all in time. That business in the void-before-world was behind her now, and she cared no more for it. The universe was here, and it was what it was. She would study it, learn from it in anyway she can. This was her true goal: not to protect order, or to gift the other Gods with large rocks in outerspace, but to understand.

She gazed into the ink-shaded, fine dirt of Cogitare. It was so cold, so lifeless. Yet, absolutely fascinating! Her divine vision allowed her to see not just the exterior of the dirt, but that which was hidden underneath it. The microscopic makeup of each individual crumb and compare it to the makeup of all adjacent crumbs. It was amazing how much they could differ wi-

"I'd protect myself, Inquisitive Goddess." A sudden voice interrupted her study. The Scribe looked up, only to find that it originated from him- the random, foolish deity who named himself Vestec. "Logos seems very possessive of the Codex of Creation.", he rumbled on. "I'd be careful he doesn't try and forcibly rip it back. He might not be the only one either. Also..." A high-pitched cackle escaped him as he lit up like a rainbow. "If you'd like another look inside my mind all you have to do is ask. Now if you'll excuse me I have to visit this new planet of Galbar."

"Yes, yes, I will..." Her voice trailed off, so that soon Vestec vanished to the surface of the world below. It meant nothing. She was honestly more focused on the composition of barren soil. It was so boring at first sight, but the molecular structure of those various compounds which all came together under the single name of "dirt". In fact, it was so fascinating that-

"Excuse me Vulamera, but may I have a word with you?" Curses! Who was it now?

A figure stepped cautiously out of the shadows- Valkaron. had he been hiding in the shade of that cliff-face? Of course you may, Father of Trickery. She replied, What do you desire of me?"

"I have been having these strange flashes of memory that seem to be from before this universe. The Tricksters voice was like a shadow, elusive and fleeting. I have come to you because you seem the most curious as to why we are here. Due to the nature of these memories, I feel it is in my best interests to learn as much as possible about this universe... and any that may have come before. Will you assist me?"

Vulamera practically lit up with excitement. How rare it was, that a Child God would care for knowledge! This was a rare opportunity.

"Will I assist you?" She forced her joyless, calculated laugh. "That is a foolish question, Valkaron. For it is in my spirit to seek knowledge. Tell me, what exactly have you been seeing? Describe it to me, in all detail you can, please. You are not alone in your memories, I can affirm that much."

As she awaited his reply, Vulamera's presence distorted, turning black while condensing itself into a semi-humanoid creature. She grew eight stretched and thin legs to carry her starving, boney torso. Three arms sprouted from both of her sides, all of which had five disturbingly long fingers that reached completely down to the ground. In spite of her absurd new body, Vulamera's face appeared to belong with a human woman. Her full height reared up to only four feet when the transformation was complete.

A two-foot finger jolted up, exploring around Valkaron's face. It bent in an unnatural way, to wrap itself around his head, as if the memories could be squeezed out.

Before she and the Chancellor of Chance could attempt to solve this little riddle, however, yet another deity appeared. Had it not been Logos, her ally from the beginning, she would have broke her polite facade and commanded them to leave at once, so that she may continue her research in peace. Order though... Order deserved focus, attention. It was an element, embodied wholly within Logos, that was demanding of study.

“It is a burden to take all of creation into one’s self. I offer my eternal gratitude that it was shielded from corruption, if even for a few moments. When all is made right, you will receive a gift for your actions that will make all others tremble.”

Her new face smiled at Logos. "Thankyou, Lord of Law." An alien voice ushered out. It was unfit for her human face- thin as a scroll, piercing as a nail. "I will gladly receive any gift you have for me, although the power to 'make others tremble' does not appeal to me. This Goddess seeks only knowledge and order in the world. If those two needs are achieved, all else falls in place."

She sighed as Logos left the solemn moon behind. "Let's hope there is no one more to interrupt us. I cannot think in crowds, the way they buzz like a hive of shaken bees...

They were all so impatient. All in such a rush - as though Time were fleeing from them, escaping, never to be had or seen or heard from again. They were so...short-sighted. He could not blame them, it was their nature, it was as Fate willed. It was a necessity.

Hanging where he had been, utterly still and not taking note of any of them, Vowzra waited upon the command of Fate. There was no need to hurry, everything was as it was meant to be, all that would happen would happen in its due course: even this Timeless pre-existence did not escape Time. All had been accounted for, all had been calculated, all was known with utter certainty. All that remained for them was to decide upon the certainty they desired, and that would make all the difference.

The wooden body of The Timeless One, after what may have been eons, finally moved. He moved with absolute purpose and certainty, but there was anything unnatural or mechanical about it. His was a fluid, completely harmonious motion, almost too perfect yet made more so by the simple fact that...it was not. Perfect imperfection, the acceptance of oneself in all one's flawed beauty, and thus attaining the only perfection possible: perfection in imperfection. It was only to be expected of one who had realised the glory and horror and crippling terror of Time. He had dwelled in those Hells for incomprehensible lengths, he had been filled to the brim, gasping, screaming, begging, pleading, grasping for relief. Any relief. He had drank of the purest waters until his essence overflowed with the unadulterated perfection. He had Seen with an Eye; watched each and every one of them fall, crumble and, ultimately, Die. But he had also grasped the ultimate truth, the chosen certainty; his road, his path and trail. They could do as they wished, build a world of wonders or a pit of despair, but his singular duty was to guard and guide them all through the narrow passages and dangerous hallways of the Timeline, and on to the ultimate safety. It would be a thankless job, he knew, he would be hated and despised by many. But ultimately, Vowzra did not really care what they thought.

First moved his piercing, voids for Eyes, then his head of bark - upon it his crown of branches, twigs and leaves. Then his body slowly, purposefully, with utter certainty and cosmic design, turned. And he viewed them all and allowed his essence to See into the infinite certainties that were, are and shall: that were not, are not, and shall not.

His penetrating gaze fell first upon the Eternal One, who had held on when all had let go and who had reached out before any thought to let go. He had willingly, stubbornly, bravely and foolishly chosen the long and painful path, and he had withstood the utmost grief, the ultimate anguish and the mightiest wrath. Woe is yours, bearer of scars, whose grief will light the nights with stars.
He knew this one would be a friend, and he also knew that it would be a foe - thus was it Fated, so shall it be - but he also knew (and without a doubt this was, is and will be true) that in the end, it would be more friend than foe. But bitter, bitter when he was a foe and a mighty, mighty friend when he was so. Vowzra neither approved nor disapproved of the Eternal One's actions, though he treated with utmost contempt and disdain his belief that he was lord over the gods. If Vowzra would direct himself to any, then it was towards Fate; but Vowzra did not direct himself to any, only Time was master over him, and a worthy master was He.

Then his eyes shifted and pierced the depths of darkness to see the ones who slithered and slunk in there. There hid the Deceitful One, who only sought, worshiped and adored his own entertainment and enjoyment. Though he cloaked his himself in darkness, his purpose was all too clear - did he think to hide from the all-seeing Eyes of the Seer? This one's words would hold the might of force and sway the stalwart from their course, his words would be calamity and discord, faithless-once-faithfuls and honourable-dishonourables. And when his tongue willed, he would enforce union on those who should never have united let alone divorce. Such was the strength of his deceit, the weak would find themselves victors and the strong, despite clear victory, would be most certain of their own defeat - and of what use was strength when the heart had already lost?

Then his gaze pierced another one skulking in the dark, this one attempted to flee his blistering gaze. It was an essence teeming with unrestrained Trickery. He felt that it was burdened with a great pain, though clearly the pain was no longer in existence and could no longer trouble it - would it thank Fate? The ungrateful tended to forget fast. Would this one be a forgetful ingrate? Would he serve with the Lord of Time or would he endeavour towards uselessness and idleness and criminal aspirations? He could already see the certainties that could be, would this one heed his basest call - would he steal, severe, cut and consume a divine soul? Or would he rise above the vile instinct ingrained within him which strove to lure, to con and to beguile? Even now he taught Life mischief. The Eye of Time would watch and wait, and act accordingly as Fate commanded.

And there was the one in Shadows Clad. There was no denying his chaotic nature, but it was a caring chaos, neither good nor bad. It was, perhaps, the caring chaos of a true brother - not that Vowzra would know, these gods were his siblings by name alone, there was no evidence of any connection beyond the fact that they had come together in Time and Space. But this Shadowy One had a voice that whispered, ‘defy me...defy me if you dare’. His act of vengeance upon the Codex of Creation was proof enough of that. Wherever there was shadow and darkness, the Shadowy One would not be far behind. Darkness would scramble before him and would trail behind, and above him all light would die and below him the darkness would seep. But moreover, this was the king of all uncertainty - look how he, first and foremost, gifted Life with ambiguity. Was it not fitting that this dark and shadowy being should be the one to fashion fear? Vowzra had no doubt that they would clash, it was inevitable; even now the Lord of Time could feel the Fate and the safety of the Timeline willing him to act, to qualify what the Shadowy One had wrought. This one in Shadows Clad would very soon discover that Time was in patience absolute, and that it was swift and thorough when the moment of action dawned.

Thus were the ones who wore the cloak of darkness. Once more, Vowzra shifted his ancient head of oak and Saw the most blessed of his siblings: those who were radiance manifest.

There was the Radiant One who shone with the light of an Ancient Sun, though he did not yet emanate any light. It seemed the Cycle had not yet begun, but soon, very soon, it would. Vowzra Saw it and it was certainty most absolute. Vowzra watched knowing as he first drew Life back from the Gates of Death with a cosmic arm, a light and sundering breath. He would not know it, he would not even give the act much consideration, but the Radiant One had brought Life back to Life and thus had lifted the first, and, perhaps, greatest, strife.
Glory is yours, bearer of Fated scars, whose sacrifice will bring forth nights and stars. Weep not to lose that which is transitory, a mighty Fate does lie in store for thee. Have patience and let not the distant chest deceive you into thinking, 'I am by Fate oppressed.'

And the other was the Pure One. She saw with an eye unlike the Eye of Time, her conceptions were warped beyond measure and sickly, horrifically, awry. She had no conception of the Greater Order, she saw the perils of Perpetual Chaos, but she was blind to the pitfall of Perpetual Order. Only where neither existed could Ultimate Order exist, the finest balance, the Greatest Timeline and Truest Fate. He would fight her sometimes and join her sometimes, but she would find him always with Time and Fate, and thus always with Ultimate Order, always guiding them toward the safety of the Dignified Fate.
How quick and violent was she when she felt that all was amiss, but it pleased Vowzra to see that she occupied her place in the world so completely. There was no place for the faint-hearted if it was with Chaos that one sparred. He would watch over her carefully, protect her even though she be unaware, and he would guide her in due Time.

From there, his Eye turned upon the tarnished ones and spread them before his view.

Towards the Execrable Chaos Vowzra felt an utterly unfounded familiarity. He felt a transcendent connection with this one. He did not particularly like him at all, but it was more the gladness of feeling a familiar spirit after being long at loss. Vowzra was pleased that one such as this was Fated to be here, he would serve Fate and Time most loyally, even as he led his crusade upon all order and harmony in existence. However, his state of being, four essences rather than one, meant that the entire Timeline could change completely as each awakened. While the Execrable Chaos did indeed serve Fate and Time with greatest constancy, it was also the one whom Time allowed the strangest...flexibility. Yes, this was an important one, it only did as Fate commanded and would ultimately be an ally in guiding them all towards the Dignified Fate. Even where their Fates clashed, Vowzra knew that he would ever hold the Execrable Chaos in greatest regard of all the gods, for it was he alone who did the will of Fate as faithfully, though ignorant of it, as Vowzra.

Turning from the Execrable Chaos, Vowzra set his eyes upon another with whom he felt a deep, unfounded familiarity. There was something about her, but he could not quite put his proverbial finger on it. He could not say he felt any particular warmth or had a special liking to her, but he felt that there was a connection, a link that his mind was dancing around but incapable of comprehending. It did not please him at all to know with certainty that there was knowledge he once had, but was now beyond his reach. It further aggrieved him to see that her future was very blurred. He could not see whether she would be a valuable ally or not, one who would stick unswervingly to the command of Fate and Time, or one who would have to be combated and ultimately neutralised - for the safety of all. It was often so that the most beautiful shells hid within them the ugliest of realities. Even now she seemed to chase after nothing more than her own delight - her's was an acquired purpose, it would seem, she flowed with those who brought her joy and happiness, who gave her purpose. It was a fascinating existence, even her addition to the Codex, though critical, was not given for any other reason than potential entertainment and fun - he would have to watch her carefully, but he knew that ultimately, no matter how he tried to guide her to truth, he could not bring her joy or happiness: he could only offer a grave and cosmic purpose.

The third of the trio was a force of nature, the Force of Change. This one, like the Execrable Chaos, was also a tool of Fate; a necessity of existence. Time demanded Change and Change was in need of Time, all things changed with Time, and all things required Time in order that they may change. Time was the vehicle which carried Change, and without it, Change was nothing but a stagnant moment. The two were intrinsically dependent upon one another, but ah! How different was the vehicle from the passenger. Vowzra wondered to what extent the Force of Change would embrace his nature - would he be content with the same friends, the same allies forever and ever, the same bonds? Or would he even at that most personal level seek to manifest Change. What was Change if its friends and allies were always the same, its enemies always known and unchanging, its love constant and its hate too.
Whether he chose to manifest change even at that basic level or not (was it truly a choice for a Force such as he? Was it not simply in its nature? Who knew what Fate would dictate) there was no denying the brute power of this Force. Were it not for War, none would have been a match for the unsuppressed power of Change and Air. Vowzra watched with an Eye as the Force of Change blessed the Codex with the ability to grow and evolve of its own volition - independence from the gods, the capability to Change. And unwittingly, he had also obeyed the command of Fate, for his gale forced Life upon the Book of the Gods, and so Life was written within it also. How wondrous a thing it was to watch the Agents of Fate at work, though they were ignorant of their supreme role, while you yourself were aware. It was an honour, but also a hefty burden which the Seer did bear.

Vowzra Saw as the one without a form took shape. He took the shape of a word. Yet it was in no language that could be read, understood, conceived, spoken or written and simultaneously it was in every language that was, is or could ever be; that was not, is not and could never be. He was the Demon, the one against whom all things could be scrutinised and judged. Against his ugliness beauty would be known, and ugliness too. Against his evil would good be revealed. Against his destruction would construction be realised. All that was would be weighed against all he was and would thus be known, realised, understood and ultimately treasured. He too would be treasured, for he was their one constant variable. He whom all things could be judged against. That made his purpose clear in the Eyes of Time; but the Timeless One knew all too well that with this one would come many a clash. Ultimately, Vowzra was a most caring sibling. He had but their best interests at heart, and if the best interests of the whole meant the destruction of one of them, then the whole was worthy of sacrifice. All sacrifice was worthy if the Dignified Fate was attained, for the Dignified Fate was in their best interests, and Vowzra had nothing but their best interests at heart. He was a caring sibling.

The Forger of the Words was the next to fall under Time's pitiless gaze. But what he Saw there was not the small, feminine body that the goddess had decided to adopt - he saw a great and mighty dragon, a beast from the great beyond who had been sundered by the powers of Fate and the Terrible Adjudicator. Vowzra felt a very strong attraction towards this one, but immediately curbed the 'emotion' and filled himself with utter disdain. He was Time manifest, there was no bias in his essence, he pitied none and had no mercy, he shattered and destroyed all things, and before his iron gaze even the greatest pacts withered to dust and fell away: betrayed, forgotten and, eventually, non-existent. No pact or bond or promise or word could ever stand the test of Time, he would watch and see if this one could stand before the gaze and not wither...and if she could, then...

There, in the nothingness of pre-existence, was another Creator god. But unlike Vowzra, this one was drowned in delusions and ideals of perfection. It was broken, a Crippled One. Vowzra thought he pitied it, but the more he thought on it the more he realised that it was less pity and more a desire to guide it, to make it see the light, to fix its brokenness and heal its great defect. It was a fellow Creator god, after all, and he owed it that small favour. Time would work on it, would influence it and guide and protect it, assuage its pain and agony and eventually rend the flawed ideals from it and replace them with truth, perfect truth. Think not of that crack as an eye, but as a manifest, primal cry. You have a wound upon your face which none but Truth can e'er erase. I shall come for you when Time is right and give you true ideals and Sight.

The next one was...unnatural. Utterly, incomprehensibly unnatural. It defied, defiled, nature, Time and the beauty inherent therein. It had a most corrupt and tainted conception of beauty, all unnatural, all...ugly. Vowzra could not understand the purpose of the Deformed Flesh, but he did not doubt the wisdom and foresight of Fate. He would just correct the deformities she spewed wherever he could and ensure that her unnatural and deviant ways did not threaten the Timeline and the Dignified Fate. Perhaps he would be able to find the source of the deformity and correct it, but for the moment, all he could see of this one was utter, pure and unadulterated strangeness, and otherness which did not fit in...it reminded him of a certain place...a certain torment and Hellish Suffering...
Though the pain cause all to scream and thresh, your taint will be cleansed, oh Deformed Flesh.

The next was not dissimilar from the last, but they could not be so different. Here was nothing unnatural, there was no eldritch aura or sickness or deformity. Here was beauty and woven tales and dreams, and here was beauty in joy and beauty in tragedy. Here was one who, they she little knew it, could glimpse of the Ultimate Order and greatest beauty. This one knew the offensiveness of Perpetual Order and the hideousness of Perpetual Order and strove to weave tales where there was neither; she called it Beauty, he called it Imperfect Perfection, Perfection in Imperfection, the Ultimate Order and the path to the Dignified Fate.
He would keep an eye on this weaver of dreams and beauty, and he knew that she would be most critical for the safety of the Timeline.

Life had Died. Vowzra watched it, and so too did Fate and the Terrible Adjudicator. Within its cocoon, Life was Dead, and all the others realised the great horror of the loss and they tried to fix it. But Life was Dead. The Lord of Time would have chanted a eulogy, that all of pre-existence may tremble and weep, but there was no need. Eulogies did not benefit the Dead, and the Living had no need for more suffering than living afforded. Life was Dead, 'No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Roll’d round in earth’s diurnal course With rocks, and stones, and trees.' What lay there within the cocoon was not Life, what was in there was simply the shadow of Life, what was in there was simply what was Fated to be. No glory have you here, oh Life, you bloomed to Death and Strife.

Death was Alive. What great irony this was, that Life should be Dead and Death should be Alive. But it was Fate, it was necessary and it was as the Timeline dictated. The dance of Life and Death had begun, and as though to prove their ultimate harmony and greatest tragedy and utmost balance, each had consumed the other. Thus was it Fated, and so it was.

War had intelligence and calm, but it saw with an eye unlike the Eye of the Seer, and it understood but little. It was a shame that a god who understood the long fight and the short fight could not understand the short-term tumults of Order and Chaos and the Ultimate Order. He would be one to act for 'justice' wherever and whenever he could, but he would not understand that the Ultimate Order demanded that, to bring Dignified Fate, short-term conceptions of 'justice', 'order' and 'chaos' - and much more - would have to be put to the side. Vowzra knew this one to be an intelligent one, however, and he knew he would surprise him, and he knew he would ally with him much. But the ultimate question was: would he know the Ultimate Order, and would he enforce it and guard it just as he had guarded the Codex and the cocoon of Dead Life? Time shall unveil All.

The Eyes of Time pierced the cloud of the Mind, the one within whom the Codex would find rest. That was not as it should have been. It was not the right of the Mind to host the Codex of Creation; she had transgressed greatly. She had taken what was rightfully the responsibility of Time.
'We have ordained that Time safeguard the Co-'
'No,' the Vicegerent of Fate interrupted Fate's words to him, 'I shall allow her the weighty burden. I shall allow her to explore it, her endless curiousity to delve into it, and I shall watch her descend into rage and hopelessness as all meaning evades her, as her great mind fails to grasp it, comprehend it. Such is the punishment of those who transgress against Time. Should it be Fated that I have 'mercy' upon one so obscene, then I shall be merciful...'
Fate did not respond to this indignant tirade, nor did the Terrible Adjudicator deem it necessary to speak, and the Lord of Time watched the Timeline shift ever so slightly before him. All was well, all was as it was Fated to be. The Cloud of the Mind may have earned his ire, he may have had a feud to settle with her, but he was a patient god and was not one to become emotionally attached when business was at play. He was certain that if she knew - and she would not - she would understand. He would cooperate with her when the Time deemed it, he would combat her when it was Fated, and he would take his vengeance and what was rightfully his when he Saw fit. Fear me not, Cloud of the Mind, but know that Time responds in kind. For whatever a soul does sow, that it must also reap, the river of Time does flow, and you must surely weep.

The last upon whom Time's scrutiny fell was none other than The Mason, The Crafter, The Brother. Vowzra felt a certain nostalgia when viewing this one, as though it held something that was of him. He was, after all, a Creator god, though not exactly so. Yet Vowzra felt a greater sense of...closeness...to this one then he did to his fellow Creator god, the Crippled One. To craft was to create, but a crafter could not create as a creator could create, nor could a creator craft as a crafter could craft. Both were close, similar, yet infinitely far and different. When held creation within their grip, the other could build all. Vowzra would bring this one close, where he could, and he would do his all to ensure that he built a Dignified Fate for them all.

Their fighting passed him by. Insignificant...stupid. It was when Fate acted that his moment had come. While the others were blinded by the Shattering Disunity, Fate and the Terrible Adjudicator set to work upon the Codex. They added untold volumes to it, and Vowzra added his contributions. None would know his gifts, none would realise them until the Time had come, and the Cloud of the Mind herself would hover around his contributions in confusion and alarm, unable to penetrate them just as she would be unable to penetrate what Fate and the Terrible Adjudicator had added. Thus was it Fated.

When at last the Shattering Disunity was complete, Vowzra was no longer there. He had simply...disappeared. But as the other gods created and meddled with Galbar, his will was made manifest. From the living trees that Slough had unconsciously created, and with the animals that emerged as a result of her unwitting will, and before all the others emerged, there emerged a tiny creature. The truly first creation, an amalgamation of the unconscious will to create life and direction from Fate and Time: ants.

The very first ant to emerge from its tree found itself scooped up by an invisible force, and before the little creature could do anything, it had disappeared into the Fabric of Creation.

Julkolfyr watched in appreciation as fate brought the plan to herself and began to feel the pull, he had only a moment to think about how much this would hurt when the codex of creation was put into action. the resulting shattering spun him as he attempted to wrap himself in darkness or anything approaching its like but he needn’t have done so for there was no pain, and as he realized this he stopped and simply enjoyed the wonders and spectacles that came forth from their plans. Almost all of them came to a rest in the vicinity of a planet which was named Galbar mere seconds after they had emerged.

He happily watched as his brothers and sisters descended to the planet in excitement, immediately creating and changing the planet with their very presence. Logos was already ‘gracing’ some of the others for stopping Vestec from destroying the plans and bidding them to give a warning to those that had had operated differently than him and before leaving had looked to Julkolfyr. He met Logos’ eyes and did not answer but simply looked on at Logos with patience, patience that would last through all time and through the games that all of them would play, even Logos.

After Logos had left and with most of the gods having gone to the planet, Julkolfyr decided it was time to descend himself. He had observed the others landing on the planet with such care and softness and had decided to forgo that in favor of a more destructive landing. The impact of his arrival shattered the desolate landscape that brushed alongside the fractal ocean. The echoes of his landing dissolving into the distance, he turned to the ocean willing it to begin flowing through the cracks that now spread throughout this land. It was slow but it gradually began to erode away the land, widening and shaping the ground that still stood whole.That done he called forth his element coating the entire area with shadows darkening the land, likely for the duration of the planet, and ensuring that they would be his.

Julkolfyr was nearly satisfied with this, nearly, there was still something missing. He realized that what he was missing when he looked across the plains and saw the Deepwoods that Slough had made, he was missing life. With a thought, Julkolfyr was in the Deepwoods and was amazed at what Slough had done, so much so he began to prance through it jubilantly. He only stopped once he saw Vowzra, immediately hiding from the god of time, which was easy given the many shadows present in the woods. He watched as his brother took up the first moving life, an insignificant tiny creature, an ant. And just as quickly as he had come upon him, Vowzra was gone. As he thought about his brothers actions, he saw that many more creatures came out of the woods along with more ants and an idea dawned on him, his whiskers twitching with excitement. ‘I can make you better' he thought, beginning to draw some ants, and other creatures like them, to him and began to walk out of the forest bidding them to grab other forms of life along the way as well as convincing some other larger life forms to follow.

As he led them across the plains to his land they dropped some of this life, these began to grow slowly, not as strongly as with the deepwood but it adapted to the environment readily. Julkolfyr paid it no heed, though he made sure that once they had traversed the plains and began to close on the Darkened Spires no more life grew between the new growing plains and his land. after they had arrived he let the creatures do as they needed and life grew in the Spires. He turned his attention to these ants, which had not done much yet but build small mounds for themselves. He began to coil his energy around them and grew them and, pulling a page out of Teknals book, instilling in their instincts structural engineering. He watched as they, now in greater numbers and larger than before, burrowed underground creating their own caves to add to the ones created by Vakarion, They were not sentient yet but in time they would be.

With these things settled Julkolfyr felt tired from all of the work he had done and walked through the spires of his land, arriving at where he had first landed. He looked around content and then dove into the ground to a small hidden aquifer resided. In it he felt the pressure of darkness and knew this was the place, Beginning to gather more and more darkness before him. He pushed through this darkness and found himself on a new plane of his own creation, complete darkness, he could feel that it was his. He did not however plan on keeping it that way however and began to add things.

The first thing he added was large stone statuettes of all the gods arraigned in a circle. Walking over to first Touns then Jvans he placed the pieces he had gained in the void before creation in front of the statues. They silently floated in front of their respective statues before slowly being absorbed into them. Finally he gathered forth darkness and filled his own statue with his essence and only stopped when he found it to be sufficient enough. With a huff he laid in the center of the statues and was still. Before long however he became bored and cast out his mind through the shadows of this new world in an effort to see what his siblings were up to.

Several hours passed by slowly and easily, measured by the tick of time and slouch of star. Beneath the shadowed canopy of the Deepwood, myriad creatures roamed. Some hunted for food, or laid traps for prey to snare itself in. Pairs and triplets of Sentinel Spiders, quickly zeroing in on the dirty mounds that the colonies of ants called home, spun sticky funnels to catch masses of the puny critters at once. Those that lived, however, were the strongest, the fastest, and the largest. These better ants the spiders ignored, content to gobble down their less fortunate cousins. The natural law, slow in effect but long in impact, was simple if brutal: evolve or die. Ants remaining in the Deepwood, though herbivores still, would be slightly larger and stronger for each generation as the process of natural selection, as ordained by the intelligent design of the universe, took effect.

In comparison to the lively treetops, where aphids made their homes and extravagant silkies soared, the forest floor seemed like a quiet murk. Only slow things moved in the shadows: Violet Slugs and Emerald Striders. Lithe, dark-spotted cats pounced through the underbrush after big-eyed wild pigs, and after a cat’s successful kill and decadent feast, the Jade Mites would tuck away the rotting remains and bring them back to their lofty, lumbering striders to be digested into nourishing light. In this low, silent realm new creatures emerged from tree sacs, given life by the energies pervading the forest. Flitting after the plentiful, fat bugs that flew through the forest, Snowed Furls moved silently despite their energetic nature. Blue-tinged Slate Apes meandered across the ground and heaved themselves up the trees, seeking fruits and berries. Bushy Arborgators voraciously hunted down the Violet Slugs, deceiving predator and prey alike with their impeccable camouflage. Finally, the Deepwood Sloths, rare and solitary creatures, dug up the roots and tubers of various plants to eat upon, discouraging any would-be predators with their size.

All this went unnoticed by Slough. After nibbling at the grass, she trotted through the forest with no special goal in mind. She encountered a strider and its mites, which floated around her hesitantly before she outpaced them. A wealth of slugs went by unacknowledged, left to squirm around the leaf litter. At one point, she even encountered a low-hanging Duster Ooze, but the gelatinous fiend did not bother the deer one bit. Seldom did wild creatures, even those capable of fighting, attack other beasts they did not instinctively hunt. To do so would be a waste of energy, and they needed that to live.

Some time passed peacefully before Slough found a little spot of sunlight, where the grass grew particularly thick. She bent her neck down to clack her skeletal teeth at it. Barely had she gotten a few mouthfuls, however, then something happened. Slough’s ears pricked up in alarm, but it was too late. From a nearby bush sprung a woman clad in green, her teeth fanglike and her manner startling. Terrified, Slough hopped backward, clearing a dozen feet in one bound, and turned tail. Before she could get out of sight, however, her body abruptly burst into leaves, whirling in some ethereal wind before settling on the ground. The Rottenbone’s fear warped her into another part of the Deepwood, closer to the basin wall and away from Astarte.

The goddess of magic would not find herself stuck with a complete lack of excitement, however. Behind she who imagined herself to be predator, there came a shrill and unearthly cry, and a Nectar Blush pounced from the trunk where it had been clinging toward the intruder on its territory. Devoid of eyes but rich in fleshy sinews, it swung its arm at Astarte with surprising speed.



In the land of Julkolfyr, there happened a strange and fittingly tragic occurrence. The majestic ring of gods, crafted for the unknown purpose of the meddlesome eidolon, stood proud but for one. While its architect lay down, the statue of Slough crumbled and fell apart, leaving only its legs and part of its torso.

With his vision shattered and his face broken, Toun bowed his head and left the parchment to the ravenous claws of conflict. He turned and strode away in barely motivated paces while commotion broke out. He took none of it in.

Niciel did offer to try and heal Toun. It was a kind gesture, as befitted her, but Toun gently brushed her away. Toun's voice rang out quietly, still quivering, but not in mania any more. It was a depressed and defeated tone. "It is no use, sister. I must bear this scar for my failings."

As Toun continued to walk, he stumbled due to the attempt of Niciel to diffuse the conflict. It would not matter now.

The whisperings of Mammon continued to try and provoke a reaction from Toun, but they were no longer heeded, just like anything else. Mammon did not understand Toun. Mammon only understood twisted contrivances to justify his wretched existence. There was nothing useful to hear from him.

Perhaps he might start over. Toun entertained the thought of making his own design. It may not be mighty or near-infinite like the parchment, but it would not be meddled by the selfish and destructive gods that contributed. His own design would be paradise and he would enjoy it for himself. The others no longer deserved it.

Before Toun could fathom how to gather the power for such an endeavour, his eye bulged with shock and he halted in place. There was a great disturbance as Fate snatched up the parchment and prepared to do the unthinkable. "No...you wouldn't..."

Toun scrunched his eye shut as the wrenching sensation of creation at a massive scale rent his perceptions of all asunder, only to be remade. It was too late. They actually did it. They took up the wretched, corrupted design made by the quarrelling gods and brought it to fruition. Toun knew he should have tried to destroy it. He couldn't have fathomed such a daring act taking place. He screamed in rage and pain as matter and energy coalesced into reality. His scream fell on deaf ears as all the gods were powerless to prevent it. In an effort to deny the reality, Toun blocked it all out. He curled up and slept, weeping red ink. This was the birth of untold suffering and he seemed to be the only one who acknowledged it.

When time saw fit, Toun was awakened by a grand flash of light as Ull'Yang took his radiant form. The warmth was strangely comforting. A cathartic hug after enduring horrors unspeakable. Toun looked around with a gasp, though there was naught but empty space and cosmic rays to breathe. There was a planet nearby. Brown and barren, but springing pools of blue and green and grey. The nearest object of remark and already the gods were at their games again. Painting and painting over. It was such an ugly mural already.

Toun's disgust was interrupted by the presence of Logos. There was a small exchange where Logos promised Toun a boon, but Toun was not as happy with the state of things as the god of order was. True, this lack of subservience and lock-step control was enough to make Logos' blood boil, but the implication that Toun should receive a reward for building something so disgusting brought his disposition to new lows.

"My defence was not enough," Toun growled in reply to the eyes and the wings before him. "Do not expect me to hold pride for such a mess." Toun peered down at the planet, it was still writhing and spreading various shapes. "The others already know what they did, I shan't tell them anything more about it."

Logos took flight again to go about his business and Toun crossed his arms in thought. There was a turmoil of fear and loathing in his mind, preventing him from discerning the path ahead. He just needed to think.

The shapes on the planet were joined by Vulamera on the periphery as she sculpted moons with her power. They each took shape as their own works of art, with various compositions and symbolism. Toun watched on, tiring of all the commotion. How was he meant to think when the gods were bashing rocks together and shouting at the top of their voices?

The immediate response from Toun to being informed that one of the moons was made in his honour was confusion and boiling anger. Toun angled his head to one side and narrowed one eye. Who was Vulamera to think that she could honour his own perfection? A sphere is a cursed illusion of perfection in this world. A trick. By the design of this universe, no sphere, no matter how perfect, would ever be a true sphere unless the matter dipped into an infinite fractal. The smooth surface of the moon was rough to those small enough to perceive it. The moon was marred, like his face. It was an insult, a jab at his own flaws. It was enough to make Toun's hand turn to blades...but they retracted slowly. His eye softened. There was an inspiration in this.

In a surprisingly level reply, Toun spoke out to Vulamera. "Your sentiment is...appreciated, sister."

And with that, there were no more words. Toun turned his head to the world. He needed a space to think, but also to be away from the tumult around him. He had much to ponder. Thankfully, a circle of mountains served a perfect candidate. A space of tranquillity built by Niciel herself. Toun warped his body into an infinitely thin ductile rod that extended down into the atmosphere at astonishing speed and spread out once again into his form under the coloured clouds of the valley.

"Yes, here will do." Toun reached his mind out to his sister, Niciel, the owner of this place. "My sister. I seek refuge from the chaos of this universe. If you would but suffer my presence in this place for a while, I promise not to meddle in any of your activities."

The wind whipped around him, the stars drew infinitesimally closer above him, and the planet curved away below him. Teknall stood on one of the many balconies of the Celestial Citadel as it drifted serenely above Galbar. He could see below that more work was being carried out, the gods slowly terraforming the planet to their liking. But above a stranger thing was happening. A large moon had been formed from debris in orbit, only to be sliced apart and formed into eight new, smaller moons. Teknall had been watching this take place as he had constructed the Citadel, and now the moons seemed finished, finally allowed to settle into their orbits- orbits which would no doubt be gradually perturbed over time by the n-body gravitational interactions they formed. While there was an odd beauty in the many moons, by dictate of the Laws of Gravity they could never be consistent in the paths they trace across the sky, changing from one age to the next. They may even collide at some point in the future, or in the worst case be flung into Galbar, their orbits could change that much.

While Teknall stood there and watching the Universe pass by, Illunbar flew over to the Celestial Citadel and complemented him on his work. “I have to say Teknall, I underestimated you. I thought you would be limited to the brute creations but now I can see that you are a master of the refined arts too.”
"Thanks," Teknall replied, "I take pride in my work. After all, you cannot spell 'artisan' without 'art'."

As he spoke, Teknall received a message within his head from Vulamera, who gifted him with one of the moons, to his mild surprise. "Why, thank you, Vulamera. It is a good gift indeed."

Teknall spotted his new moon, Auricolor, drifting gracefully across the sky. "Well, I'm off now," Teknall announced to Illunbar and Zephyrion, "See you again some time." And with that he was off, willed away to the surface of Auricolor.

Across the surface of this moon Teknall strode, prospecting the mineral composition of this creation. It was astonishingly rich in minerals, as it contained most of the valuable minerals from all eight moons combined. The violent processes involved in the birth of a moon had smelted some of the metals, leaving large nuggets scattered across the surface and buried beneath it, including iron, which could be found in its pure form in this oxygen-free environment. The great heat and pressure had also formed gemstones of various kinds, including diamonds. Yes, Auricolor might be useless to Teknall himself, but to any metal-working civilisation this moon would be a huge boon. It was perhaps a shame that it may be eons before a civilisation could so much as set foot on Auricolor, let alone industrialise it.

But that gave Teknall an idea. Touching a deposit of adamantine, Teknall drew up the metal, refined it, and shaped it into a maul of purest adamantine that was as long as he was. As Galbar turned above him, he spied some empty space, and in a moment he had transported himself there. Standing a couple hundred kilometers south-west of the Nice Mountains, Teknall tapped the ground experimentally with the butt of his maul. Then, Teknall grew to his full stature, the maul growing with him, and divine radiance spilled out onto the landscape around him. He raised the maul above his head, and then with all his might swung down.

When the hammer struck the ground, the ground shattered and cleaved beneath it, and the tremors of that blow would be felt across the planet. Out from the point of impact spread two fractures in the crust of Galbar, one heading west towards the edge of the Shattered Plains and Fractal Sea, the other heading south, snaking its way down to the tundra. This may have seemed like a brutish display of strength to some, but in truth it was a refined and calculated move, just as a mason would split a rock to make a brick.

Along this newly made fault line Teknall called on the earth to merger together and rise. And rise it did. Along this fracture a mountain range formed, towers of stone reaching from the surface of Galbar and pushing through the sky. And from deep within the earth minerals were upheaved, making these mountains richer in metals and gems than elsewhere on the planet. Not as rich as Auricolor, but still a valuable place. And thus the Ironheart Ranges were formed. The violent process by which Teknall formed these mountains would not be without consequence, for this area would be subject to seismic activity such as earthquakes and volcanism, but Teknall figured that the relatively easy access to minerals would be a sufficient boon to allow any civilisations who took root here to cope with it.

The last of his energy expended, Teknall shrank back to his regular height, and he stowed his maul away in the pocket of his apron. Then he hiked along the ranges, taking things easy until he felt up to more creative works.

Vakarlon smiled, unfazed by Vulamera's odd choice of form. He did wonder why so many limbs were necessary since he was fine with only two legs and two arms, however he dismissed it as a matter of preference. The finger wrapped around his head was mildly discomforting. He hardly saw how an invasion of his personal space (yet another concept that was unknown in origin) assisted in revealing the mysteries of the Universe(s?). No matter, Vulamera had agreed and that was good.

He paid Logos no mind when he appeared as the self-proclaimed King had not come to speak with him. He did however inwardly chuckle at how this would be an odd sight for he who thought himself the Lord of Order. A little confusion wouldn't hurt the proud old fellow. A finger around one's head was an odd sight but an innocent one. He trusted his peers not to be childish enough to start rumors. Soon, Logos left of his own accord with Vulamera's answer.

Vakarlon spoke to the Inquisitive One.
"I am delighted to hear of your enthusiasm to solve the mystery. Hopefully we will not be interrupted. My memories seem to appear in my mind at random. Most of the time, they are accompanied by physical pain. The painful ones tend to involve fire and death, other times they are simply extremely numerous fragments. The first time the painful memories appeared was nearly immediately after I became conscious in the Void.

I can never get context for the Fiery memories but I remember them most vividly. While I have no interest in activities involving the content of the memory, in fact they repulse me for the most part, I sometimes recall laughter that was both cruel and deranged, both cold and bloodthirsty. Strangely, it seems to have originated from my voice in the memories.

Then there are less concerning and more soothing memories. A family and a career in cheating the overly proud out of a little of their excess. These are the memories proper. You have no doubt noted that despite our coming into the Void without proper access to previous memories and knowledge of how language was acquired, we possess understanding of language and many concepts. I suspect that we were formed normally and had childhoods and educations of a sort but they are masked to us. Why don't you tell me of your memories?"

Vakarlon left out that the memories seemed to have a lasting effect on him with strange and disturbing urges. If it seemed the knowledge would be of assistance, he would reluctantly volunteer it. Until then, he didn't need anyone to question his sanity... Other than himself.

Ull'Yang made use of his divine sense to feel his surroundings, trying to determine his location in relation to the rest of the gods. After an untold amount of time passed, he finally picked up on several faint signals that his brothers and sisters were emitting with their divine essence. "Ah, It seems that I ended up quite a distance away from the other gods. Truly unfortunate..." Ull'Yang thought to himself. Truly, Fate played cruel games but Ull'Yang didn't care anymore. He realised that it would be unreasonable to go against the plans of Fate and thus, had taken it upon himself to fulfil the position that was entrusted to him.

There he was, a blazing ball of plasma, aimlessly floating in space, pondering on his next move. By simply existing, he was carrying out his duty to the Universe. "But, I need to stay in touch with the other gods lest I become estranged from them..." With that thought guiding him, Ull'Yang gathered his cosmic essence into a single point on his burning surface. He used the signals emitted from the other gods to pinpoint the general location of the planet, he presumed, they had taken upon themselves to fill with their creation. With a sudden burst of energy, a colossal solar flare erupted forwards, flinging Ull'Yang's essence across space at incredible speeds.

---

Galbar, Present

The gods had long started exercising their powers on the planet Galbar when Ull'Yang's essence finally reached the solar system. A blinding pulse of light had passed through countless galaxies and solar systems before reaching Galbar. It washed over the planet, momentarily shining even brighter than the system's own star! Ull'Yang's essence solidified into a humanoid form above the planet before getting caught by Galbar's gravitational field. The Avatar started falling towards the planet. Gravity exerted its force on the Avatar, constantly accelerating it to the point where flames suddenly appeared, engulfing it into a fiery inferno. It, however, as if completely ignoring the flames, was unscathed with not even a burn mark appearing on its skin. It fell on the surface of the planet like a meteor; the impact creating an enormous crater.

Ull'Yang connected with his Avatar and willed it to life. It opened its eyes and stared up at the bright, blue sky. "This must be Zephyrion's doing..." He thought as he stood up and took a look around him. With a wave of his hand, the naked appearance of his Avatar was covered by a white attire, filled with red and gold embroidery. "Ah, much better. Now, to get out of this hole..." Ull'Yang stamped the ground with his right foot a couple of times, testing out the power available to him. "This should do..." He thought while crouching down and with a flex of his leg muscles, he shot upwards with force, exiting and landing a few meters away from the crater.

Ull'Yang scanned his surroundings, trying to figure out where he had landed. Unfortunately, all around him spanned nothing but barren, blackened land, devoid of any sort of life. The sky overshadowed the land with grey lifelessness. Filled with moisture, the air was cold and damp, seemingly being able to chill the bones and freeze the soul. "This land is filled with the chaotic essence. Life...is unable to exist here. The very environment rejects it..." Ull'Yang sighed. A part of the planet had already been defiled by Vestec, the first of many more to come for sure. Ull'Yang just picked a direction and started walking. What he was looking for...he didn't know. So he walked.

After walking for what seemed to be days, Ull'Yang finally exited the Shattered Plains of Vestec. He was truly happy that he no longer had to spend time in that cursed place. He continued walking in the same direction for another day or two before an enormous mountain range appeared on the horizon. Now, the mountain range itself wasn't anything of particular importance. The source of immense life essence that was hiding just behind it? Now, THAT was important. Ull'Yang quickly increased his speed and was soon speedily approaching the mountains. Once reached, he climbed one of them, reached its peak and from there, started leaping from one peak to another, quickly traversing the range with relative ease.

Soon, he had left behind the mountain range and entered a deeply vegetated forest that was brimming with life. Ull'Yang stopped and took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the breathtaking and intoxicating aromas of nature and life. The specific part of the forest Ull'Yang found himself in was covered by a thin layer of fog, limiting visibility while also giving the forest a more mystifying feel to it. He took a step...then another...and another. After what seemed to be mere seconds, Ull'Yang had walked deep into the forest. Surprisingly, navigating through the forest wasn't as hard as Ull'Yang had originally thought it would be. Sunlight had managed to sneak through the tight grasp of the tall canopy and was nourishing the plant life below, creating a small clearing. "This seems like a good place to take a rest..." Ull'Yang thought and, after looking for a while, found a suitable place, a tree that was neither too short nor too tall but had just the right amount of sturdiness to be able to bear his weight. Ull'Yang climbed the tree, sat down on one of its branches and closed his eyes.

---

Ull'Yang's consciousness had returned back to his true body. "There's only one god amongst us who would be able to create such a lush forest, full of life essence," Ull'Yang thought whilst nodding in satisfaction. "It seems like Slough is doing good." Ull'Yang then turned his attention to the cosmic debris that had been caught by the strong gravitational field he was exerting and were colliding with each other.

"Huh...I wonder..."

The stone that had melted into the lower pores of Jvan's body, for the most part, remained there. Some of the caverns of Vakarlon, she knew, would lead into her own cavity, or between the trenches and marks that had broken into them as she had torn up the face of Galbar to hide it under a more orderly pattern of water. But it did not matter. Her resting place was fitting and Jvan would remain here. The algae around her was already growing strange in her presence, extending and looping and tangling into mats and stalks in her presence and her body, giving much of her lower half a hairlike green tint. The brusque shove of Zephyrion at first unsettled her, chilling and fuelling the growth in the Fractal Sea at random turns, and she wondered if that artful god had not also succumbed to a flaw as had Vestec; But his great wisdom prevailed, and soon the diversity of seasons became regular and desirable. Resting here, she was a garden, and an observatory. The ideas were already flowing, and the best of them came with the fall of perhaps- Certainly- the purest deity of them all.

Freed of her protective web by the un- and re-ravelling of the Disunity, the sarcophagus of the Rottenbone made its descent over many orbits, and though it was far, she could sense the emergence of her sister-god in the splendour of resurrection. From the glowing depths of her core, Jvan focused her light into a thin whine, then spat into the air an array of strange eyes, which scattered and orbited the planet in crazed loops and eccentricities before coming to rest. Most landed in the Deepwood. Soon, all cracked and leaked strange, colourful ichor onto the barren earth.

One of only two that survived had the blessed luck to be pulled into the zephyrs of the Celestial Citadel as it would soon be formed, and there it would remain, a glittering spectator rolling over polished and perfect flaws, pushed around by the breath of the First Gale, sustained by the magic built into every brick by the Mason. Teknall paints in stone, and he does paint well, I see, in elegant lines and arches like the canopy of a forest. And my sister- Oh, but perhaps she is observing the premise of something. Isn't this such a good place for the gods to play together?

The other found rest in the Valley of Peace, where an Angel resided in a calming, colourful mist that brought stability to the eye of Jvan. These mountains were pleasant and healing, and full of energy, and the Engineer admired their tranquil architecture. And yet, though it soothes, it lacks change. It is a palace without a song. It is a bone without flesh, like my own sea. Niciel could be trusted to continue. Like her, she had planned and invested energy in the future, and Jvan looked forward to the day when her eye would see life behind the mist. The Mother Goddess was always dependable.

It did not matter about the rest. In just a few years, or days, or minutes, Jvan had seen much, and she was well pleased. For years her core emitted a soft, mauve glimmer as she processed the information, sensing, dreaming, beckoning for samples of wood and bone to traverse the currents of the Sea's thousand inlets and come to her across the ocean. If all the inspiration and joy of seeing so many shapes and colours of flesh in their endless number of unique, shared dances were documented, a truly bizarre and ecstatic tome of theories and half-finished designs would be given to the world.

In those days the only regret of the Engineer was that she had not held the egg of the Deer God closer, buried it deeper within her, so that even the Catalysis of Creation would not have separated the two. For by the time her first samples of the Deepwood reached her from across the Fractal Sea, they had greyed in the sun and been bloated by the water, and they were few. When I am rested, I shall cast off from myself an aspect of myself; I shall travel though I remain, and with eyes I shall behold the source of all this. And yet what she had was more than sufficient.

From her samples, Jvan regenerated the original species and watched them flounder, float, and sink around her. Crafted by an artist who knew nothing but what she made, and made nothing less than what she was. They were beautiful in life and death and decay. Again and again Jvan birthed them, grew them, and let them end, each time creating more copies, each time emboldened in her experiments by her observations. She twisted their bones, sliced them, fused them to one another, pumped fluids between shared veins, dissected, added and re-combined them in many different ways. An axis of double symmetry became a radial point for three, or four, or five. A spine became a shell, a ribcage an exoskeleton. Fins were pinched out of skin and limb. Trees flexed and were grown into animals, became something amphibious and new. That which produced its own light she particularly liked, and emulated. From just traces of matter from the Deepwood, Jvan used her thrumming core to use, and set about to begin the task of beautifying the Fractal Sea.

Resurrected flesh adapted well and poorly to the habitat, some weak and limp in the water while others scattered their meagre population traversed the waters from end to end, travelling before they had even started to establish a breeding population. Even as the work continued night and day, the force of Jvan's core was not enough to multiply her sculptures into stable breeding numbers, and she yearned to have access to some of the original stuff, the blood of the wilderness.

Thus she called into being a small entity that was mostly fluid, enclosed it in a translucent pink amniotic sac like a bubble, and pinched out of it numerous oddly-angled wings of veiny membrane. As Jvan spoke into the tiny thing, in a message written more in light and emotion than in words, an embryo grew within the bubble, fueled by a placenta injected with energy drained from the Other, an embryo little more than an array of mouths and glowing glands and a small brain to carry the message.

Should her request be in some way translated from feeling into sound, perhaps it would have read such: "Slough, sister, daughter and mother, your touch has reached this world and made it whole. Rest well, and find fresh pastures in which to wander. But I have grown to dearly miss your presence. I have moulded life to fit in the oceans which seed the rain, yet I cannot grow it as much or as wide as you do. So come, and join me in my bathing. Create for yourself, too, a Sea, into which you may tread life. It shall surely join itself to mine by its inlets. For much of the world beyond the Deepwood is barren, and I wish to see it filled such that you and I may wander together and find beauty in all things."

The oddly-winged little messenger angel flitted into the night sky, where it would seek out the Doe and give birth, granted that she wasn't distracted by some divine trickster, or it was perhaps driven away from her by a particularly large body of flesh.

Somewhere, the Releaser was preparing a chamber in which to perfect the cyclic passage of death, and Jvan wished idly that she could see how such a thing was put together to encapsulate such a critical part of life. Elsewhere, in a sky that puzzled but intrigued the Engineer, a wholly different chain of thought was preparing to come upon Jvan, one more lasting, and considerably more dangerous.

The moons pleased her with their variety of shape and the way they tugged and scuffled over the weight of her ocean. The approach of the Unborn pleased her... Less. It took a while for Jvan to breathe into another messaging angel. This one held only words as it flitted off into space to seek out its charge.

"Vulamera. Unborn god who rejects form. Scribe of Souls yet to come. I see that you are perceptive, curious, and rightfully doubting, and I will treat well the rules of diplomacy and return what honesty you may have given me with what truths I can.

I do not like you, but of all my siblings, I also do not understand you. And I am not sure if you understand me.

The value of an artist is in what they create, and we are gods. The divine flesh, too, is our creation. You quote my very being when you speak of diversity, and yet, above all others, the Lord of Science should know this: One cannot add to beauty by adding void. Look at yourself! When I last tasted your design, it was black and without shape, like the Orbs of Julkolfyr are now! The essence of Jvan accepts all, even Vestec, even, though I swallow him with difficulty, Logos. Not so for one that contributed nothing to our gallery of bodies. I have judged you by your craft, and found you wanting.

...And yet. You experiment, as I. You do create, and I know that you have finesse. Then, if you will continue to contradict yourself, at least grant me this, for it is worth more to me than a gift that is already glorious without my effort: Take Mirus for your property and sculpt it as you desire. Paint it with any essence that pleases you, and I will accept it as good. If you are so deeply crippled in your nature as to deny yourself your own canvas, then continue to create what you love elsewhere. Express yourself.

Keep unto yourself your other personal moons as well, though I find them bland and waiting further touch. Even if I possessed one, I must stay here with my work and my favourite muse, the Rottenbone, whose freedom I value more than the universe itself. Existence, too, we can make. Only sister can never be replaced.

And, I mean... It's not as if I can move, anyway."

There was no immediate answer from Niciel, but Toun had no doubt that his presence in this place would cause no harm. He wandered slowly for a short while, taking in the tranquillity. Niciel truly knew how to evoke peace, even in a rough creation such as this. Soon enough, Toun found a rock to sit upon and leaned his cheek onto his fist. If this place was so peaceful, then why was he still so distressed inside? He peered within himself to try and solve his problem, closing his eye and breathing.

All he had to do was to relax and embrace whatever thoughts came. It seemed so easy, but an unspoken tension warned him. He thought back to the void and his vision; a paradise devoid of all chaos. It was pristine, clean, untarnished, and...perfect. All except for a single crack, barely a hair wide. For some reason, this unassuming crack focussed all of Toun's attention. It was not just some obsessive compulsion - no, there was more. Toun stared deeper into this little flaw, bringing his mind's eye closer. There was something inside this blemish. A little...writhing...creeping...thing...

Toun's eye shot open before his thoughts could play out the scene any further. He knew exactly what it was. Through that tiniest chink in the armour of perfection, all suffering could flood through. It may have needed time, but it was there. A chaotic force, an uncontrollable storm, unspeakable abominations of life and flesh, a deepest darkness, it didn't matter. It was suffering. The only way to stop it was to sure up every crack, rebuild the broken, redesign them, make sure that there is no weakness in anything. Again, the words of fate echoed in Toun's mind: Make this world better.

It is not good enough...

There was a distraction then. Nothing nearby, but a rumbling sound. The ground trembled momentarily in a mighty earthquake on another corner of the planet. As if the clouds above were disturbed, a patter of rain began to sound softly around Toun. No doubt the surface of this planet was continuing to be displaced and shaped by the other gods. Toun gave it no heed until the rain pooled at his feet in a reflective puddle. Seeing his own face was unlikely a deliberate insult by Zephyrion, but Toun was unimpressed all the same. His eye stared up at him accusingly. He stood up from his seat and looked ahead to ignore it.

If I am to make this world better, I must protect it in the meantime. If only on the planet that I may start with.

With at least one path of planning to go down, Toun decided that he would shelter himself from the cruel reflections of the water. He slowly raised his arms and willed a creation into existence. Nothing complex, nothing evolving, just a shelter. It started as eight, flexing and writhing white points poking out from the bare ground as the corners of an octagon. At their greatest length apart, they were only five metres. As their points slowly grew out up towards the sky, branches curled out at right angles to the points, growing at the same rate. These branches found their neighbouring rods and fused to form a frame. As the points ascended to about six metres in height, they curled towards the centre of the octagon like bones. More branches pushed out at right angles, but wove tightly together as they grew. Below, the space enclosed by the octagon was being woven with more symmetrical branches until it had built a floor, and then flattened and fused to be smooth and flush. The growing structure only stopped when it resembled a porcelain gazebo. In terms of decoration, it was unremarkable. As a solid, level piece of porcelain, it was flawless. Toun only wanted shelter from the rain so he could work, but he didn't do things by halves.

When Toun stepped into his gazebo, scuffing his feet on the dry, glossy clay, he willed perfect white potter's wheel to exist in the very centre. It pushed out from under the floor and took shape at navel-height to Toun's form. It had no mechanism for spinning apart from Toun's will, but he got to work immediately:

The protection need only be temporary, but only once the most it can hold is held... His thoughts reflected his shaping hands as a lump of white clay rose out of the wheel.

None of Slough's creations need fear it. They are not a threat I am concerned with here. It shall be built to fight greater enemies. The clay lump began to hover off the spinning wheel and sprouted six large limbs. These limbs ended in large, strong hands.

Strong. Protected. They will hunt the abominations wherever they can be found. The lump sprouted one long, flexible limb that formed a head and neck. Untold complicated mechanisms of flesh began to take shape within.

This one purpose does not require a soul. Pieces may be...substituted. Toun's fingers curled carefully into the lump and seeped red ink into the clay. The clay sucked up the substance greedily as it formed its inner workings and imperatives.

You shall not have the same weaknesses of nature. I know how this world can be exploited...how to drink raw sustenance from the divots in reality where magic falls to gather. There seemed to be a glow from within the folds of the lump as a specialised magical siphon was constructed to sustain Toun's creation. This siphon was an unstable machine of flesh and metal, but well protected with the porcelain plated hide of the torso.

You are a brutish bandage over a wider problem. You will serve your purpose. In the paradise to come, you shall be recollected. You are number zero. As the last of the required red ink was sucked into the lump of clay, Toun's fingers carefully extended to points to hold it.

The spinning of Toun's wheel stopped. With careful steps, Toun exited the gazebo and placed the lump of clay onto the mud. As Toun stepped back, the creature grew and grew until it was larger enough to demolish the gazebo itself. "You are the first of the white giants. Long may you protect this world." Toun announced.

All of its six mighty fists held its large armoured body aloft. The strength in its form was enough to crush any natural creature alive to date. Its white, glossy carapace was too smooth for the purchase of claws and teeth and too thick for the pummelling of anything smaller than it. Its lack of eyes only belied a sense for life forces themselves, denying escape to the stealthy. This was a guard against the veil, a machine of the bastion order. It would not halt in its duties until destroyed, as guaranteed by Toun's tapping into the arcane secrets of the world. This one would care for the peaceful valley around Toun, but there were many more places to protect.

However, despite its brutish appearance, the first white giant simply craned its neck around curiously like an gentle animal. Soft clicking sounded from its head as it inspected the physical shape of things around it by echo. It would not hurt the natives of this planet. It may even help them. Just as inscribed by Toun himself, the creature began its slow patrol. The prerogative of protecting this planet Galbar from whatever might overtake it from the outside was carved eternal in its being.

This time, Toun gathered his power. From one example he could make countless perfect replicas. And replicate them he did. For as long as it took, he transported himself to every walkable space on the planet Galbar and constructed a new white giant for its protection. His work went ever onwards until no less than two billion white giants each walked their own space of the earth. No demonic manifestation or eldritch horror would flood onto this planet without a challenge yet.

When Toun's work was finally complete, he felt as though a distraction in his mind had at least been dealt with. He returned to his gazebo in the peaceful valley that Niciel created and sat on his wheel to brood. There would be great work to be done soon, now with the security of mind that nothing short of all the gods would surprise his efforts. Still, his current work was not good enough. "This is only the beginning."

Her minor contribution to the Grand Design complete, Belru simply watched from afar as tensions rose among those remaining around the parchment. Though her featureless eyes betrayed no emotion, her thoughts were as divided as the myriad gods arrayed before her. For each of them she felt something different, but she was not prone to bias so these impulses were subtle things, rising sharply then fading easily. They would only take true shape under the guidance of her interactions with them. For now, she only felt patience.

With each passing moment the conflict escalated until, beneath the gaze of Fate, the intervention of Order wrought the most Chaos. It seemed that he did not yet understand that true order was found in the balance of opposing forces, something written within his own laws, for the force of his arrival instigated an equal and opposite reaction from Vestec and Zephyrion. Even with Creation itself threatened, Belru felt no impetus to act boldly, instead turning her solemn gaze to Fate and the Terrible Adjudicator. As expected, it would be They who passed judgement on Creation.

Before the Grand Design could be further sullied by careless spite, it was summoned into the hands of Fate. With an eruption of divine might, they were all drawn into the maelstrom of creation. Belru felt the power that had been welling within her stripped away to feed her shared creation, but despite that she was enlivened as she had never anticipated being before. Eons passed as the vast emptiness around her was filled with the ignition of newborn stars to carpet the universe, and the heated masses of earth cooled into planets locked in their orbit. Beneath her, she saw, was the dun sphere which would be the center of the gods’ efforts.

Already her brethren had descended. Beneath her patient gaze, colors blossomed to spread across the surface of Galbar. The lifeless white of Vakarlon’s ice, the blue of Jvan’s ocean, the green of Slough’s Deepwood, the pink mist of Niciel’s refuge, and the fractured pattern of Vestec’s plains. All of these things were pleasing to the eye. She felt the instinctive urge to create rise which had taken the others, and the flesh of her assumed form tingled with the burgeoning power waiting to be released, but she held it tightly within her until the yearning had passed. Through it all, she watched.

Far above the surface of the world, Belruarc drew her knees up to her chest and continued to drift, caught in the planet’s gravity, biding her time. From the fractured earth, Vulamera’s moons formed behind her. Under the hammer of the Mason, mountains rose. Through it all, she watched.

Through the empty, polished hallways and turrets of his acropolis did Zephyrion race, enjoying the freedom of the drafty and spacious halls with the countless windows and terraces. Even with Teknall for company the place felt somewhat...lifeless. It was far too large and far too vacant; after the initial rush of excitement and novelty began to dimmer, Zephyrion found himself feeling rather lonely. That was no matter; size was relative to gods. The First Gale reached out and expanded his airy form to fill up the space within the citadel, becoming one with the every last breath of air within its splendid halls.

With mild interest he had watched as Vulamera took the shards of chaos and disarray that drifted about in orbit around Galbar and shaped them into one great body, and then sundered it into many smaller ones. 'Well, look at my dim-witted fool of a sister. She takes after me, bringing about such beauty and Change! And look at those many moons, each one a marvel in its own right, a jewel in the skies almost so superb as mine! Perhaps she grows closer to redemption,' the Storm's King mused to himself.

It was then that Ilunabar made an appearance, complimenting Teknall on his craftsmanship or something of the sort. She was welcome company. In a sudden blast of air, Zephyrion had rocketed to where the two stood in the citadel. for ease of conversation, he contracted his shapeless form manifested as a small vortex. "Ah, Ilunabar! We have not become so acquainted as we should, so I might humbly implore that you stay. Welcome to my shining jewel in the sky! A beauty, is this palace not?" he spoke as amicably as his tone allowed, the words still whipping rather harshly from within the churning mass of air that was his form. Despite all friendliness, he was nearly demanding that Ilunabar declare the Celestial Citadel beautiful; such an affirmation from the Goddess of Beauty would legitimize the palace's splendor and solidify it fast against any doubt in the god's ever changing mind.

A moment after, he heard Vulamera. His interest was piqued when he heard her calling out to the world, offering up the moons as gifts to the various gods, one by one. Zephyrion eagerly waited in anticipation to see which would be his!

Her gift never came. Words could not describe his rage and jealousy; down below, the air itself seemed to roil and a dire storm began to brew. He swept through the hallways and appeared atop one of the nearby gleaming spires of his alcazar. There he stayed, glaring long and harshly at the hideous rocks that Vulamera had erected for the sole purpose of marring the view of the heavens, making his Sky the ridicule of all below. It would not stand!

Teknall said something about leaving, no doubt for his new moon. Distractedly and half-heartedly, words whirled out from the storm, "Faretheewell, brother! Like the wind on the plains, be ever welcome in this hall!" He then returned to Ilunabar, the living sparks that were his eyes glowering and cackling rather wildly. "Sister, look to the sky! See the wretched works of Vulamera, who I might name Foe? Such a disgrace. Those lifeless rocks are a blemish upon my pristine sky, something will have to be done..."

Suddenly aware that his ranting might be offputting, he changed the topic to happier things and in only a heartbeat his tone swung drastically to an upbeat cadence so as to better reflect this change. "But enough of that; such machinations can wait! Let us not stare at the horrors above so hard that we lose sight of the beauty that lies below!"

It was then that Zephyrion sensed an odd presence in his vicinity. It would seem that he had yet another visitor; Jvan's eye had managed to lodge itself within the clouds and zephyrs that were the foundation of this citadel. He was not a poor host; he would bring her to a more comfortable position! As gently as he could, the Embodiment of Change willed the eye to be swept in a draft of rising wind. Suddenly, Jvan would find her eye placed gently atop a pagoda alongside Ilunabar and Zephyrion, the view of Galbar below perhaps even slightly better from atop these heights.

"I bid you welcome as well, Jvan! I do not recall speaking long with you, sister, so it is pleasing to finally have you in my presence."

Addressing both of them, he said, "You have arrived at a good time; admire that vast, empty expanse below us: it is beautiful in its pristine simplicity and bleak harmony, yet still no more than a blank slate on which something better might be wrought. Even now as we speak, I prepare to chisel and carve that expanse into something more appealing. It shall be a fun exercise of power; look at how the winds already stir!"

That great churning storm below that had been summoned by Zephyrion's anger now moved in strange ways, sending great gales of air rocketing into space. They arced upwards, ever higher, pulled by both the magic of the Celestial Citadel's power and Zephyrion's utter command over the air. The great columns of air reached the peak of their arc, and began to array themselves into position. Zephyrion was going to bathe Galbar's surface with blasts of compressed air so forceful that it would slice through stone and scatter soil hundreds of miles away. But he still lacked a certain inspiration.

"The two of you are goddesses of beauty, so might you care to help carry out this sacred action with me? To help guide my eroding winds, so that as a trio we paint a canvas far more beautiful than any one of us might individually hope to create? I offer you the chance to impress upon me your images of beauty that I might be inspired, to share your ideas of what form is most Ideal and Perfect..."

Zephyron soon arrived to greet the muse in his typical stormy form, he too was another deity she underestimated, she thought he wouldn’t care about arts, but he had quite an interest in glory, and what was better to magnify glory than art? Of course she didn’t dare to express that view like she did with Teknall, the change of characters would completely alter the end result.

“Thanks for you hospitality brother. It is great to see stunningly beautiful works like these flourishing. In fact, if you don’t mind, I would like to stay here for a while, I need to assemble a few designs for my forthcoming project and there is no place as pleasant as here on this universe right now”

That was not even flattery, Ilunabar longed for the luxuries that only she could imagine. A comfortable pillow, a satisfying glass of wine, a delicate confection, and another myriad of things she couldn’t get in this unrefined world yet.

As Teknall left, Ilunabar had finally noticed the moon forming, she had lost its beginning due to her dizziness and now that she saw it she felt a bit bothered, not even close of the intense hate Zephyrion felt, it was more of a curiosity, what adorned the sky was such an extravagant and frail project that it was unsettling that it was born from the goddess of mind and logic.

“Our sister is thinks she is the most clever and apparently she craves to parade how much calculations she can make” Ilunabar understated “But such a project cannot stand too long, it is fragile, even I could tear it down” And there was no way Vulamera didn’t know that, the provocation was obvious, but why on Galbar would Ilunabar try to contain such an exciting development?

The moon talk soon ceased as Zephyrion noticed someone around, it was an “envoy” of Jvan, Ilunabar’s favourite fractal based sister. The eye’s purpose was clear, Jvan was observing the world around her, searching for inspiration among her sibling’s work. Her diligence made Ilunabar realize how much she had been idling around.

The First Gale’s request made her obliviousness to all the word a more pressing matter, so she decided to scout this world and whatever her Siblings had put in it. Concentrating her power, the Muse sent little crystals to quickly observe Galbar.

(Disclaimer: The following content does not reflect the official opinion of Double Capybara Incorporated™. Responsibility for the information and views expressed lies entirely with the character)

The report wasn’t detailed, but she could understand the basics of each work. Vestec had created a predictable landscape, a bit disappointing. Vakarlon’s design was curious, perhaps it was not intentional, but a land with so much ice and so many caves and holes would be tricky for animals and mortals alike. Slough’s bestial aspect made her creation amazing yet at the same time limited, either way, Ilunabar was fascinated by how the thoughtless and chaotic creation of beasts naturally started to follow a series of unavoidable laws, like the circle of life and natural selection. Niciel had created a haven for herself, Ilunabar found the use of myst interesting but the execution was lacking. Not as lacking though as Julkolfy’s shadowlands, the pitch black was annoying to look at, however that annoyance would also drive many mortals to use their imaginations to fill the empty spot, that was interesting. Reathos’s creation was hard to perceive, the god of death had many mysteries, many which the muse would have to explore, for death was an essential part of many future stories. Toun had created giants, Ilunabar wanted to fix their lack of imagination, but she didn’t have the time to spare right now. Tekknal had made an interesting work on the land, it helped the muse to realize how she would help Zephyrion’s project.

Yet another batch of crystals was created, this one for a focused and simple purpose, a Geological analysis of the surface. She wanted to know where the wind could be used the best, and indeed, as the data returned to her she saw many great possibilities, there was some informations though that gave her ideas that didn’t involve the wind but the nature of the Change. But should such idea be shared? It was dangerous, but oh the possibilities it would create.

At any rate, first the most important.

“I have looked at the topography of the this earth and I can see many possibilities for gorgeous scenarios to be born. I fear none will be extravagant as those moons, but they are refined designs, everyone can create a rock ball in space, a well formed Valley however? That is only for the most elegant creators. Each one of these is a natural wonder, and they will be ever present, wherever the deities look they will see your creations” she created a map of Galbar full of illustrations “The soil on top of these hills is fragile, but the stone underneath is strong, if you were to blast it with wind the soil would go and the flat stone would remain, creating a Mesa. On these other areas however, if you caused many torrential storms over the time Canyons would be created. If you alternate the intensity of winds and humidity various different kinds of beach could be created…” the Muse’s explanation went on for a while, many ideas for different natural wonders being explained.

“Now...” she fully expected the god to be bored by now, that is why she reserved her tricky designs for last “I created a few entertaining designs, they are basically giant wind instruments built on stone. My main idea is to create a belt of these horns across the world, if they were used all at the same time a powerful note would shook all the word, no corner would be left silent. I have a few other designs though, some would produce haunting tones, others joyful tones, all of them however are gigantic and and their sounds loud and full of might, and only you and your divine winds would be able to play such instruments.”

And that was it, the more dangerous idea still lingered in the Muse’s mind, but first she wanted to talk with her sister Jvan.

“You know, I’m still angry at the injustice you suffered back then. To call you chaotic, that is just as wrong as one can be. I have seen your creations sister, your law is perfect, every work has a formula behind it. I sadly can’t fully follow your logic, it is beyond my comprehension right now, but that does not give me the right to call your work illogical”

The muse knew she was going into a territory where she had no right to go, but seeing a fellow artist getting undervalued by uncultured peers would always annoy her, no matter where. And she didn’t lie either, she fully believe that Jvan’s order was almost perfect, or at least more durable than the collapsing order of Toun, the stagnant order of Logos or the reactive chaos of Vestec because the formula behind it was always adapting and perfecting itself.

“The antonym of the word Order is Chaos, however, an inverse Order is still Order. You are just not within the tyrant Logos full reach, his Order is not the only Order, and that is why you were hated, at least in my view, that is”

The muse then smiled, and started to draw a few things on the air, it was an image of the depths of the fractal sea.

“Anyway, to warmer topics. I simply loved the work you did with here. The landscape is fabulous, the luminescent creatures makes even the dark depths look like a starry sky, and I’m absolutely enamored with your Lilypad trees.” sadly however she had to once again touch a sensible topic “Have you noticed Toun’s porcelain giants? I didn’t manage to get much info on them, but they have a threatening look and there is an alarming amount of them.”

Niciel was satisfied with the Nice Mountains. The air around them, particularly near the mist, was clean and pure. The mountains were a decent height as well. Most of all, they emanated an aura of purity that definitely didn't exist anywhere else on the planet. Niciel thought further on the matter, and began to think about the future. There had been some events that made themselves known within the mountain range, such as the bright light that radiated Ull'Yang's cosmic energy for a brief moment before fading, and Jvan's probe landing within the valley. What would this world be like centuries or even millennia in the future, especially when life begins to grow and flourish? How would the world change? What was she to do?

The more Niciel thought, the more she felt distressed, until she realized that she was no longer satisfied as things were. Then, something came down from the sky, landing inside the Valley of Peace. When Niciel felt its energy, she immediately realized that it was Toun. "My sister. I seek refuge from the chaos of this universe. If you would but suffer my presence in this place for a while, I promise not to meddle in any of your activities," he explained to Niciel.

It was then that Niciel realized that the world was changing already, albeit slowly. Niciel left the Nice Mountains to examine the world once more. One structure immediately caught Niciel's attention: the Celestial Citadel. It radiated an aura unlike anything else, this one of power and change. Niciel could tell that such a structure could not have been built by a single god. Niciel realized just how much time had passed while she had been staying in her Valley of Peace. She had ignored change.

And the sky! More specifically, the 7 moons that floated above and around the planet. Vulamera's handiwork, as she had broadcasted each one representing 7 different gods and goddesses. Niciel spent a period of time admiring each one before moving on.

Niciel moved on to the Deepwood. An abundance of life existed within its leafy domain, all of which were strange and foreign to her. Still, they all contained a beauty of their own. Niciel also took notice of Ull'Yang's Avatar, as well as Slough's disappearance and Astarte's appearance.

Niciel then found herself at the Fractal Sea. Niciel could sense Jvan's essence within it. Life was also present in the waters, although they were much simpler than the organisms found in the Deepwood.

Niciel realized that despite all the events currently unfolding on the planet, the main event was still yet to begin. Niciel was determined not to miss the time it happened. Niciel summoned her power once more and concentrated 2 orbs of light into her palms. Once of them shone bright pink, while the other a bright yellow. Niciel then released them, and they began to slowly rotate around Niciel. She then removed a fragment of energy from both orbs and merged them together, forming a white orb, barely half the size of either of the original ones. After a brief moment, the white orb grew slightly, then split apart to form a completely identical orb. The white orbs then began to move and stop at irregular intervals. Niciel knew then that they were ready, and released them into the world to survey the planet.

As Niciel returned to the Valley of Peace, she noticed quite a number of white giants that had begun roaming the land. Niciel could sense Toun's energy within them, and realized that Toun had been busy while she was away. Arriving in the Valley, Niciel began to rest and replenish her power. Using her energy for her creations took more than she had expected.

"Oh, come on!" Astarte yelled after realizing Slough had escaped. Who'd think such a basic Goddess had the intelligence to use its power in such a way? "Not fair... She should've run instead of just disappearing..."

Astarte shut up.

A threatening presence was nearby, one she hadn't noticed due to her entertainment. When she turned to localize it, all she saw was a blur. The speed at which the creature moved was impressive. It dashed into Astarte, who let herself be knocked down. Then it tried to bite her face off.

Only to explode in a mix of ashes and what Astarte could only describe as liquid light.

She'd put her hand on the Nectar Plush's body and let a small current of her power into it. With a grin, she jumped up to her feet, covered in the strange mixture of ash and light. "That was awesome." She said, before biting her lip and concentrating on her clean self again. It wasn't long until she and her dress were clean again.

"So... I suppose animals like these can't take my energy..." She said and bit her lip in thought as she observed a bit of the liquid light wiggle and waver on the ground for a moment before... Evaporating? Astarte narrowed her eyes and looked at her palms. With the smallest bit of concentration, she willed herself to manifest some of her essence on it. Indeed, after a mere second, a jet of a bright substance shot up.

"Logos!" She shouted and reeled back, barely avoiding the ray of harmful magic.

And as she imagined, there were remains of the ray. Similar to the liquid light that came from within the animal, Astarte willed forth a set of three vials and put a small amount of the magical residues in each. Having done that, she sent the vials to Vestec (@Rtron), Zephyrion (@Cyclone) and Teknall (@BBeast). Along with a personalized thought for each of the Gods she sent them to.

"Vestec, I found out I can make this liquid light. I'm not sure what it is, but I have a feeling it should be called Magic Essence or something ridiculous like that, what do you think? Anyway, I was wondering if you could find a fun use for it. I'd be down to test it on different things."

"Zephyrion, I heard you made an awesome citadel of sorts and upon finding out I could make this substance, which I'm in the process of naming, I thought it'd look nice encased in crystal or glass and illuminating entire halls or rooms. If you want more, let me know."

"Teknall, we haven't spoke before. I think I could smell you back before all of this was created, though. You're good at making things, so I was wondering if you could unmake things. Do you understand? I want you to try and make this substance simpler. Or at least explain to me what it is. If you need any other God's help to finish the task, then you can ask them. I can pay you for your services. Probably in terms of actions, who knows?"