Dawnscroll — Roleplayer Guild

Harbinger of the Natural Order, Guardian of Harmony, God of Kings and King of Gods, I AM THAT I AM
Level 2 God of Order
10 Might 3 Freepoint

Logos stood at the edge of the glowing display, looking over the final design. The cold kiss of winter nipped at his essence, but he did not feel it. In the distance, the sea churned with frothy ice. Long had he labored within the depths of the Citadel, even as the seas expanded and mountains crumbled and shifted. His valley remained untouched to Time, as the world prepared itself. He labored even as his gifts took fruit and spread, turning the barren lands into something of endless potential.

"Awaken,"

From the blazing center of the Citadel a single beam of light exploded, rising high into the empty sky. The heavens above became a sheet of streaming light that poured forth from the Moon as each of the Realta fell from the heavens. A few smashed deep into the earth, sending up explosions of molten rock, but many merely hovered in formation around the ivory spires of the Citadel. In numbers uncountable the Realta's beautiful frames vibrated with blinding light and power, each different from the other in subtle ways. Some were sheathed in stone and bronze, iron and gold, silver and steel, mithril and adamantium, platinum and titanium. Each was wrought more beautifully and delicately than the last in the shape of a winged fascimile of Logos, feathers composed of lightning and flame, manes aglow of dancing light. Even their eyes shone bright as the true creatures within gazed out from their armored shells. They formed into ranks, and each and every one turned towards the King of Order. His crown of liquid light pulsed and glowed with so much magic it was like gazing into the heart of the sun.

Logos stared down at the ranks of shining lights, as the valley flickered and burned in their luminescence. "You Realta are my children, each and every one of you," Logos declared, and it was so. "You will aid me. Our enemies are many and this world is but the cradle of my work. You will resist the incursions of the others gods. You will destroy their works where you find them. You will protect the inhabitants of this world until you fall."

The Realta remained silent.  They all gazed up at him, their white etheral cores burning through material shells. Within them coursed his own power; drops of his own divine essence to fuel their inner most light. From the moment they opened their eyes, there was already a purpose engraved into their very biological template, put their by his raw might: Serve Logos.

They were powerful as a result.

They were his.

He willed them to leave, and they did. Taking off into the night sky in, the column of unified light splits into thousands of  each one a spark of light in the impossible distance as the begin their watchful duties in the cold void. They arrange themselves in varying patterns and distance, wrapping the world in a guarded post.

Darkness suddenly falls across the land at their departure, and the colors he created become dim and blurred, but the dark feels relaxing on his eyes. Looking around at the pitch-black landscape, Logos walks to the Citadel’s edge, staring out into the sea, its green color having changed to a deep, dark blue that he knew would one day swallow the land.

He glanced down at his side. His shadow is gone from cool ivory. Looking up at the expansive sky, his eyes glisten with the thousand of thiny piny pricks of light that now fill it, protecting this nubile world from the darkness beyond.

Yet still he was alone.

His wings snapped open as he alighted down to the valley below. He remembered the one and only rule of the Immortal Game:

Nothing happens unless he wills it.

And for the first time, there was something that he trully wanted.

A bright ethereal light surrounded him, the power coursing through him filling him with energy and focus. He snapped his eyes open and they glowed like beacons with white, electrified magic. The aura surrounding him crackled with energy, the magic emitting a steadily growing hum as it increases in power. The ground buckles under him forming a crater, which filled with water that rose up from the cracks in the sandstone.

The water rose up to his knees, before cascading down one side of the lake as a river. The surface of the valley spring rippled with magic.

Not once during this does his concentration slip.

White sand floats up from beneath the water, and begins forming two pillars that float on the surface. Growing, the pillars of sand form a set of legs identical to his. He directs the sand, making it from his memory of  what might had been in the world beyonds worlds. The body is lithe and supple, the hair long and flowing. A pair of wings stretch out far on either side of the body, the detail of each quill crafted with detail befitting a masterpiece.

He makes the face regal, and makes it hold potential for both unabashed enthusiasm, and calm reserve. The reflection of sand’s eyes stay closed as he wills it to be. Its hair flows down the sides of its neck, forming features under an invibile tool.

Her reflection is as white as her, and every last bit as white as the sandstone surrounding her. Within her is the soul of the Realta, but a shell of flesh and bone and silver blood, as bright as starlight. Her eyes and hair he decided to make gold, and its strands glimmered in the moonlight.

Stepping back, he looks at this other Realta he has made, with wings and body only a fraction of his size, and remains silent. As his magic fades, the final Realta floats down into the water, no longer held up by him.

Logos boldly stepped toward her, eyes searching. This is the most strange thing he’s created since he first woke. Her skin glistens, even in the dark. Logos lifts a hand and reaches out hesitantly to touch it.

And he remembered.

He remembered there being one white speck among the vast green swells of microscopic life, drifting peacefully as they fed from the sun. He remembered it growing, slowly, an inch a year, absorbing minerals from a rock, leading a sluggish but tough army of lichens and fungi from the ocean and across the barren, rocky land. He remembered leading the first school of mudskippers, flipping and hopping desperately between evaporating puddles, from the rivers to uninhabited inland pools. He remembered the sudden explosion of shapes and forms. He remembered there suddenly being hers and hims instead of solely its. He remembered the first small furry creature that, when he pointed up, looked up at the sky in wonder instead of at his hand.

The young girl’s eyes snap open, and her head jerks to look at Logos. Jumping back, the little winged child looks around wildly. Logos sees confusion in her eyes, but he also sees something he recognizes.

Fear.

Logos walked very slowly towards her. The young Realta tensed and goes rigid, but did not run.

Logos continues to walk slowly.

As he nears, he can see the little Realta trembling. Logos stops just in front of her and looks at her with empathy. The Realta stops trembling and looks at her, wide-eyed and confused. Carefully, Logos walks up to her and rests his hand atop the little Realta's head beside her ear. The little one's hair is as soft as she imagined. He feels the child tense up again from his touch. Instinctively, Logos names his first child.

“Elysium.”

The little Realta moves beneath his touch, and then relaxes. A smile spreads across her face, and she repeats the word, “Elysium.”

Elysium

Level 1 Realta Hero

A vivid green meadow spread out before them, a thousand dandelions mimicking the golden sun above. Not a single cloud marred the perfect blue sky. It was the quintessential meadow, perhaps the very meadow by which all others were designed. A butterfly landed on Elysium’s nose, then lazily fluttered its wings.

“You are but twelve years old, Elysium,” Logos said. “But your place in the natural order has been made clear. You will nurture each new species, and guide them to their special place in our world.”

“Like the butterflies?” Elysium asked. The one on her nose took flight, startled as she spoke. Elysium followed it with his gaze, grim.

“Not the butterflies,” Logos said. “Not unless Vestec renders them extinct or unusable. Now tell me: what do you see in this meadow?”

“Dandelions!” Elysium’s hair was the color of dandelions. Perfect dandelions, that was.

“Indeed,” Logos said. “No daisies. No honeysuckle. No bluebells.”

The air around them stirred, and the grass was flattened to the ground as Logos ruffled his wings. “Flowers made war, and dandelions won.”
“Is that bad?” Elysium asked.

“No single species is meant to attain dominance,” Logos said. “And yet dandelions have become the apex flower. It’s a design flaw,” her father said, stepping into place beside her. “They’re too resilient, and propagate too quickly. I always thought my seed design was clever. Too clever, it would seem. A new design is necessary.” Logos said.

Elysium looked to her father. “So the dandelions are going to change?”
“Yes,” Logos said. “They need to die more. I will redesign them so that they live in harmony with the other flowers. Thus fulfilling the natural order,” Logos said.

Elysium giggled with a smile. Logos raised an eyebrow at her.

“This is where your task comes in, Elysium,” Logos said. “The current dandelion is too robust. You’ll need to kill them all before we start laying the new design.”
“I have to kill them?”

“Indeed,” Logos said. “Be glad that we are designing dandelions, and not chinchillas.”

Elysium sighed. “You always bring up the chinchillas.”

“The chinchillas,” Logos said, with a far away look in his eye “almost always merit bringing up.”

Elysium grumbled. “It was an isolated incident—”

“—Involving twelve thousand flaming chinchillas—”

“Dad!” Elysium shouted. He turned to look down at her. “Isn’t there a way to keep these dandelions? I like them. They’re the color of my hair.”

Logos seemed to consider this for a moment. “There is,” he said at last. “It will contribute to your education with my gifts.”

Elysium gasped. “You’re going to teach me that?” Logos nodded.

“Will I be needing the design?” The god wondered to himself aloud before shaking his dark head. “No,” Logos said. “It will be a simple change. Behave, Elysium. Your father is patient, but only for those willing to learn.”

Elysium nodded vigorously. “I will! Be good, I mean.” Logos merely nodded at her.

“Now,” Logos said. “Building a power that will sterilize any member of a particular species is difficult. You must first understand how they reproduce. Do you know how a dandelion reproduces, Elysium?”

“You blow on them!” Elysium said.

“This is true, in part. But it is also much more complex than that...”

The tundra was hard under Elysium's feet as she ran at the front of a stampede of caribou. Their nostrils pumped out frosty breaths and their hooves pounded the dirt in a dull rumble.

A sharp yap drew Elysium's gaze to look over her shoulder, over the heads of the caribou. A pack of wolves fall in line, hot on the caribous’ trail. The distance between them begins to close, the wolves natural sprinters to chase down prey, but lacking the stamina that the much larger caribou have.

She turned to look back ahead, increasing her pace and hoping the caribou will do the same. The rumbling of their hooves grows louder with the increase in speed, and the arctic air whipping through through her golden hair urges her onward.

A howl sounds behind them, and Elysium peeks over her shoulder to see the wolves turn off. A little ways behind the stampede, the wolves gather around a kill—an old caribou that couldn’t keep up with the rest of the herd—and begin to feast.

She peels off from the herd of caribou, who continue ahead at a subdued pace, still afraid of the wolves. Logos stood in the distance.

“Your idea for these predators never sat well with me,” Elysium said, drawing her lips to a thin line as the sound of the wolves eating reaches her ears.

“You know it’s necessary,” Logos says, watching the scene with much more indifference than Elysium. “Remember what happened with the rabbits?”

“Yes, I remember,” Elysium said, sighing.

“And if I were to create some other way to limit the populations, one that didn’t involve so much death, than I would have to take away the gift of new life.” Logos looked back at the carcass. “Look,” he commanded, and Elysium did so.

A pair of wolf pups wrestle beside the kill, their soft muzzles coated in red as they tumble on the wispy tundra grass. Despite the dead caribou next to them, Elysium finds a warm smile spreading across her lips.

If Logos saw her smile, he did not mention it.  “That caribou will keep those pups—and the rest of the pack—from going hungry for a month or more.” He is perfectly still, as poised as a snowflake ready to fall. “Where there is death—”

“—there is also life,” Elysium finishes. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, a faint smile on her lips. “I know. You have told me repeatedly these past few centuries.”

Her father simply stared at her for a few minutes, before shaking his head in disappointment.

"You have much to learn about the Natural Order."

She was in the forest, looking out over a still pond wreathed in oak trees. As always, the magic came to her with the slightest feeling, and she began to sing.

Today’s song was a butterfly taking off of a lilypad. Her voice fluttered between notes, taking off and rising to a gentle call. The branches around her swayed and brushed her bare skin. Birds flitted to the trees around the pond to watch, then added their voice to hers.

She stepped out onto the pond, sending ripples away from her feet as she stood on the surface of the water. Her song’s pace quickened and it grew more intense, like thickening rainfall. Fish swirled around her toes just below the surface in their own complex pattern. Even they knew their protector.

And they followed her. Every tree, every fish, every animal adored her with an intensity that could defy even their basic design. Wolves would stand alongside sheep just to bask in the glory of Elysium when she sang. Her beauty inspired butterflies to first take up the first patterns; her music inspired the creation of a hundred different itterations of warbles from songbirds, each attempting to mimic the sound of her voice. All of them failed.

But would they follow her if not for her design? Elysium decided that the answer was yes. She was more to them than beauty and song; she was sustenance. She was nurturing. She was a mother, in her father's sense of the word. Always willing to stop and tend to a creature, no matter how small. Always willing to plant a seed or grow food. Elysium tended to them them. It was that simple.

"It is time."

A pulse of magic stirred the grove. Elysium lost her song, and the animals fled as she splashed down into the pond. The trees snapped back to their typical rigid forms. 

Logos stood on the opposite bank.

Elysium grumbled as her hair reverted to its natural state and fell soaking wet over her face. She pushed it away with a hand as she climbed back onto the surface of the water. “Father,” she said, shooting the Lord of Order a dirty look. 

Her eyes widened in shock as Logos knelt down into the mud of the pond, and began to shape the mud. She had never seen her father stoop to using such base elements, even with all of his species. His reached deep, pulling far from beneath the surface.

"This will be my final design," he announced to her. "After this, you shall bring to me new works. Watch," he instructed her.

Elysium's head swam. "What are you making?" she dared to ask.

Logos did not answer. He did not even seem to notice as his immaculate wings dipped into the mud behind him. The silence stretched into hours as his hands dug and piled and molded the soft soil into two very familiar forms. 

Two legs, a torso, two arms, a head. Her father seemed to be recreating her, sculpting her from the earth. The other figure was distinct enough for her to see that it was a male of this species. At times, Logos would pause, his white eyes staring unblinkingly down at her creation, before making some small, unseen adjustment to their features. 

At last, when the Sol sank low in the heavens to dip beneath the horizon, did Logos complete his work. He knelt alongside the riverbank. Elysium saw the glint of something silver, like starlight, fall into sculpture's form from her Father's hands.

Logos sighed. 

Faint, tendrils of white magic drifted from his lips, coiling through the air and through the nostrils of the female. Then he repeated the gesture and did the same to the males, after he was done he simply stood. And Elysium waited. 

And waited.

 After a few hours, just as she could see the faintest twinkle of her brothers and sisters appear in the night sky, she was growing skeptical if this worked at all but suddenly the female's body jerked up in an arch as startling gasp for air came from her.

This scared Elysium a little as she jumped at the sight as the female began to cough harshly. Elysium saw the clay on her skin falling off like dried mud as she rolled on the ground coughing. But as the last of it fell off and dissolved into the water she was amazed at how much the creature appeared to look similar to her. Her hair was a fiery copper and long as it came down to her waist, it was as smooth as silk and her skin was beautifully pale.

Logos observed the female as she caught her breath from the rough coughing.  Her back was small and smooth that let her long hair flow freely and glide across her skin. Elysium slowly walked over to the female.

As she did the female looked up as her eyes startled Elysium, her eyes were light blue and gave off look of apprehension. The female didn't say anything as Elysium helped her sit on the ground.

"Do you know what I am saying?" She asked as the female just starred at the Realta. Her eyes scanned Elysium's for more than one answer.

"I guess not-" But she was cut off by another gasp but this one was louder and a much stronger tone. Both of the women turned to see the male now gaining life as he arched his back and then rolled onto his stomach like the women did. But as Elysium looked at the male she couldn't help but blush as the clay on his skin fell away. His skin, unlike the females, was perfectly dark like the bark of a tree. His body was built like a fortress of pure muscle, tall and powerful. Through that idea slipped her mind as she looked at his body as it looked to be carved from marble and not clay. But his tall stature only added to it as he was perfect by any standards. But as she ripped her eyes from his flesh with the most beautiful cinammon eyes that was under a mess of black windblown hair.

Though Elysium didn't want to admit it, these creatures unnerved her. Their eyes were not like the deers'; unfocused, unknowing, ignorant. There was a spark, an understanding within those depths. 

They were aware.

 Logos spread his wings, wrapping his plumage around his daughter and placing his hands on her shoulders. Elysium stiffened in his grasp, and she noticed the female had managed to crawl over to the male and help him sit up.

Elysium was astonished at this at how they acted together as the female managed to get the male to sit down as he caught his breath. The Star just watched in silence as the female patted down the male as if to check if he was hurt as he sat their regaining his breath. Elysium could tell they shared a bond already from the way the female acted around the male but finally after a little bit of silence both the new beings turned to her.

"I call them Man," Logos told her from behind. "And they will be your children." 

The Citadel rose out of the heart of the forest, a shining fortress of steel and glass. One could tell just by looking at it that it wasn’t a mortal design; there were no straight edges, no right angles. Everything about it was curves and points: from the massive petal-like walls right down to the glowing runes etched over every surface of the metal.

It was massive—far larger even than the Mountains of Crestol. Even on the proper side of The Boundary, the line around the Heart that no mortal soul could cross, The Citadel could easily be made out at the centre of Elysium’s forest. To Elysium, it had always looked like a platinum flower—perhaps a lotus. In reality, flowers probably resembled The Citadel. It had come first, after all.

Today The Citadel’s many arms were open, and sunlight reflected off of the metal petal-arms so brightly it hurt her eyes. At the center of her forest, surrounded by vivid green plant life, The Citadel would have appeared unnatural had it not been there all Elysium’s life.

With two beats of her wings Elysium took to the air and put herself above the treeline, which still fell far below the towering Citadel. She approached the the gleaming edifice, eyes scanning the sigils inscribed along the metal surface. She found the one she was looking for almost instantly: she had, after all, been doing this for almost nine hundred years. This was the place of her birth.

Elysium ran her hand across the surface of The Citadel, and a surge of blue light ran through each of the nearby sigils. The metal under her hand shuddered as if it were a living creature, rippling at her touch. A dozen seams appeared, each meeting at the place she had touched, then radiating outward in an arc. The aperture slid open soundlessly to admit its only operator: her Royal Highness, Princess Elysium.

Inside, The Citadel looked much the same as it did from the outside. Each of the petal-walls was open to the sky above, and natural light from the sun outshone the blue glow of the etchings that lined every piece of metal. The petals themselves had no scaffolding or ramparts to walk on; they just gradually angled down to the ground.

Instead of floors or walls, the interior of The Citadel was made up of rings. Each ring was higher up than the last, and each was composed of thousands of tiny metal objects. They were all simple shapes—crescents, fins, circles—and all of them were etched with the same glowing blue light that adorned the petals. They spun in circles around the center of The Citadel, defying gravity.

Elysium stepped out into the open air, and the nearest of the metal shapes formed a platform beneath her falling foot. The light along their etchings grew brighter as she touched them, and as she walked forward the platform began to assemble itself in front of her.

Logos’s work required space. So much space, in fact, that despite being larger than any natural made wonder that had ever been, The Citadel was still a tenth the size it needed to be. It simply couldn’t hold every room and tool that was required. Elysium began to ascend The Citadel, walking in a wide spiral along an assembling set of steps.

Logos had solved the problem with the shards. The pointed, curved plates of metal could assemble to form any room or tool they might need—and they needed many tools. The shards also held the archives, and—supposedly—The Citadel’s defenses.

Not that they’d ever been attacked. As Elysium understood it, the others gods would have to spend precious minutes breaking through Logos’s defenses to get inside The Citadel. And if Logos himself was present, they couldn’t assault it at all.

Which meant that no matter which species they rendered extinct, Logos and Elysium would restore it with the blueprint stored in the archive. They could rebuild it, given time. Even the gods of Chaos could do no damage to their world that they could not undo.

It also meant that Logos could never leave The Citadel for more than ten minutes at a time, unless he bade Elysium to stay behind and guard in his place. He rarely did.

Elysium finished her climb, arriving at the very top ring of The Citadel, situated just below the tips of the petals. She stepped out into thin air once more, and by the time her bare foot came down it landed on a small, jagged platform that looked to be a part of a much larger circle. She strode along the circle’s length, the shards behind her falling away as more filled the path before her.

A cool, clear voice, containing only the slight echo of magic, greeted her as she approached. “I’ve been considering your newest design.”
Elysium was twenty minutes late, and already she saw exactly where her father was taking the conversation. They had, after all, been together for over three hundred years.

“The Lamprocapnos,” Elysium said.

“Is it?” Logos’s liquid voice flowed through the entirety of The Citadel. At the very center of the uppermost ring, directly in front of Elysium, a translucent human heart made of blue light appeared, dozens of times larger than Elysium.

“You see,” Logos continued. “The shape of the flower looks nothing like the actual organ used to pump blood through a human’s body. Rather, your design is shaped as an abstraction. One used not to represent the organ, but love. Love,” Logos said, as though he were working through a word puzzle out loud. “Another abstraction. One created by humankind, no less. A combination of base reproductive instincts and their higher level spark. If ever you want to hear a completely unique idea, Elysium, ask a human to define love. Each of them will give you a different answer, one containing both what they hope to give in a relationship as well as what they hope to receive.”

Elysium rolled her eyes and sat. This was probably going to take a while. As exciting as it was to talk to empty air, she’d rather get on with their work.

“So your design must represent love, but the love that humankind has invented. Is it love that makes you special, Elysium? I think this claim can hardly be refuted; after all, you are Princess Elysium. One would be hard pressed to find a creature on this world that both subscribes to this idea of love and does not love you. Your song moves beasts to tears and your beauty plagues every flower with jealousy. These things were my design but your idea: no creature should think itself above us in any aspect.”

Elysium propped her head up with a hand and yawned. Did Logos intend to explain the entirety of his hierarchy, as well?

“But there is more to it than being loved, isn’t there? You love the creatures of this forest so much I would find it sick. I’ve seen you cringe at the sight of a squirrel in pain. It makes one wonder why the design, a bleeding heart, of all things.”

Elysium raised an eyebrow. “Love and gentleness are two separate things entirely, father. Rest assured, the name is appropriate.”

“Perhaps,” her father said. “But the fact remains that I have wracked my brain time and time again in consideration of your true talent in this world, and do you know what I have never found, my Elysium?”

“A stone so heavy even you can’t lift it?”

Across The Citadel, several shards from the uppermost ring formed a new section of the circular platform. Logos shimmered into being and gave Elysium an arch look. “An excuse,” he said, his voice now coming from only one source. “For your tardiness.”

 King Logos was exactly as tall as Elysium, but much broader. His hair was a long, almost feminine flowing mass of bright white ether. His wings and skin were a matte black. He wore nothing. His face bore the expression of dispassion that Elysium knew so well. His eyes were cold and distant, his mouth a thin line at the end of a square jaw. He was handsome, in a way.

        Since they were the same height, it was difficult to tell how much older than Elysium he really was. But if one looked closely, they would notice that the tips of his wings split into the same bright white ether that he had in place of hair, and that his irises were a burning white as well. He had a certain stillness to him, as though he could stand in the Citadel forever, watching with disinterest as the mountains crumbled around him and were overgrown.

        Logos spoke in a fluid, resonant tone that seemed to demand attention despite not being particularly loud. "Your response?"

Elysium smiled. “You just aren’t looking hard enough, father. See, it’s why I picked a bleeding heart. Perhaps my purpose is to wound those who love me by being continuously late. I thought that was obvious.”

Logos did not look amused. “I have told you before, Love is not for a God, so as to thereby refute your premise and undermine your conclusion.”

Elysium scoffed. “I don’t doubt that what you feel for me isn’t love. But for a moment, assume that we could. How would you refute my claim?”

Logos began to step around to Elysium’s side of the circle. “Mankind has such interesting views on parenthood. It is not enough that a parent love their child; they must do so unconditionally. The most morally praiseworthy parent is one that expects only two things from their child.”

“I spend more time with them than you,” Elysium said. “I know how extreme humans are when it comes to their children.”

Logos frowned. “Extreme. Yes. In any case, state your expectations.”

Elysium grumbled. “Do I really—”

“Yes.”

Elysium sighed, then stood up straight. She began to recite.

“I am expected to understand that while I am your child and a being of free will, my decisions or beliefs will never supercede yours . Should we ever come to a disagreement, I will do as you say and trust that I will become wise enough to agree with you, in time.

“I am expected to oversee the propagation of life throughout our world. Upon the design of a new species, I will ensure that they grow until they can sustain themselves and take their place in the natural order.

“I am expected to gain the love and adoration of every mortal being. I will use this love to keep them from misdirecting the frustrations the other gods brings them onto us. I will at the very least make them believe that I love them in return.

“I am expected to fight the discontent and misdesigns of the other gods whenever necessary. I will not attempt to save their creations. The corruption will have already taken root.

“I will respect and revere my father and maker, who is a god above all things. I will never disagree with or disobey my father.”

“Stop,” Logos said. Elysium did so. “What was that last bit again?”

Elysium glared at him. “I will never disagree with or disobey my father.”

Logos tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Have I ever told you to come on time, Elysium?”

“You have,” Elysium said.

Logos’s eyes turned on her. “Then what could possibly be so important that you failed to come on time?”

“Research,” Elysium said. “I was doing research.”

Logos blinked. “Research outside The Citadel? As in with those caves?” Logos had always found it odd that humans stored information on paint with stone rather than in metal with magic. Or at least that was the impression Elysium recieved.

“As in with people,” Elysium said. “I met an interesting man today. He was crouched over a pile of sticks, striking rocks together.”

Logos’s expression became unreadable. “Ah.”

“He can create fire. True energy manipulation: no splitting, no addition or creation. Unlocking potential energy.”

“It isn’t,” Logos said. “But the end is the same.”

Elysium waved a hand. “Whatever. On a closer examination I determined that he can do other things, too. Things that I can’t stand to repeat. Things that you would call unnatural. He can do things to us, Logos.”

“I know,” Logos said. “It’s part of his design.”

“But not apart of the others!” Elysium hissed. “At least they had drawbacks. A fish cannot fly, a wolf cannot eat grass. This new kind of human... it creates! It is a creature with a set of tools. Tools that I would say look very specific. What are you making, father?”

Logos turned away. “You are sworn never to disagree with or disobey me,” he said.

Elysium sighed. “This is true.”

“Then let me make this perfectly clear, my Elysium.” Logos spun to face her. “You are not to ever speak of this again, to anyone. Not even me.”

Elysium’s voice became urgent. “They’re going to find out, father.”

“They will. But on my terms.”

“There are no terms by which you can present to the other gods that will make this seem acceptable.”

“Acceptable?” Logos whispered. The word bounced off the inside of The Citadel, reverberating around the two silent immortals for a time. “Do you think I find it acceptable when they sacrifice creatures by the thousands in their games? Do you think I find it acceptable that I can scarcely step foot in the world I created?”

“You should,” Elysium said. “These things are necessary. Millenia of work will be lost if any of them gets The Citadel.”

“I worry that I am wrong on that matter,” Logos said. “And I worry that we have sacrificed too little and asked mankind to sacrifice too much.”

Elysium didn’t know what to say. She’d always been accused of caring too much for humankind—she was the soft one, not Logos. Yet here was her father, confessing compassion for creatures that he rarely ever even saw.

Elysium spoke very quietly. “You gave humankind existence and the means by which to exist.” She was quoting her father. 

“I gave them our enemies,” Logos said. “But not my power. Perhaps this should not be.”

Elysium was silent.

“Imagine if humans had the power to destroy our enemies. Individually they are weak, but as a race they are resilient. So numerous and crafty that extinction is all but impossible. So numerous that among them there would always be individuals who could use power responsibly.”

“You’re making a weapon,” Elysium said.

“Not at all,” Logos said. To Elysium's shock, he did something she had never seen before. The God of Order smiled. “I’m making a future.”

Logos created a new guardian race, the Realta, which he positions in the furthest extent of Arcon's atmosphere to serve as a defense against enemies.

Is futher spurred to create one final Realta, who he gives a mortal form of flesh and bone; a young girl he names Elysium and claims as his daughter.

Glimpses of Elysium's life are viewed as time and life progresses on Arcon. 

Logos creates one final race of his own design, leaving further designs for creations to Elysium. He calls the new species, Man.

Logos gifts fire to Man. Elysium, seeing the potential that Man can achieve, is frightened by this and attempts to warn her father. Logos seems to be playing a much longer game...

5 MP used to Level up to 3
1 MP used to guide the evolution of the Plant Kingdom on Arcon
1 MP used to guide the evolution of the Animal Kingdom on Arcon
1 MP used to create the Realta (20,000)
1 MP used to create Elysium (Realta Level 1 Hero)
1 MP used to create Humans (2)
1 FP used to give Humans the gift of fire.
1 FP used to give the idea of Community
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