1 A destined affair
After the great calamity known only as the First Great Cataclysm, the world became a shell. There was nothing but ruins, a landscape of broken lands and bottomless chasms.
The Fire Giants' demise. And the rise of a new age.
Ancient Dragons roamed the world; the era of Giants was no more than history.
The high elves had been around for far longer than anyone could count. They were intelligent, intelligent enough to know that war would only lead to death and destruction; their choice was clear: to neither help nor influence the war between titans.
Even still, the High Elves were a race of prideful creatures; they desired power more than anything else.
One of these Elves reflected this the most. At the time, she didn't have power or actually anything. She was just your normal civilian, a village girl, one who wanted it all, but had no power to do so…
But grace was never a straight line; its logic twisted, angled, and unpredictable. The will of the world had other plans for the ambitious elf, ones she couldn't have predicted herself.
The reign of Ancient Dragons were some of the most chaotic times in the world's history, second only to the times when the Giants had owned the lands…
The stone-scaled Dragons roamed the earth, laying waste to whatever they deemed useless, as they called it, the culling of the weak.
Brute strength was their only means of power; only the strong shall live while the weak must perish.
Burn. Their lightning rained upon the world like a never-ending calamity.
Deemed useless by Horthemrake the great dragon, was a small village in the eastern continent now known as Zevol. The village was home to a small group of High Elves.
Upon hearing the news, most fled, fearing death, except for one, a girl. She stood atop a stone pedestal and in the face of the towering dragon, she spoke powerful words…
"Thee shall have no gods before me, and no gods after me, all those after are nothing but demi, halves, fakes, copies… Assist me, my brave dragon lord, Horthemrake the feared, be mine consort and rise to the king who held ye back."
With her words, body, and voice, she seduced the great dragon.
And through the affair, the strumpet became noble. Through her new lord, she had power behind her, one of the greatest powers of them all.
2 A march towards divinity
She marched, her footsteps now echoing the power of an Imperial, someone unbound by the rules of normal civilians. For she was now a noble, an unofficial title she put upon herself.
Passing the Demonic regions of the South, she marched into the valleys where the ancient dragons roamed. She stomped, her lord by her side… Finally, before her was the gate, the very gate of the divine. A tall stone staircase leading up to it, covered in flesh and blood…
Hands, bodies, legs were stacked into the gate; there was no door, nor was there any holiness. Just gore and the sufferings of those sacrificed— their hands reaching down drenched in blood, looking for salvation and mercy from their promised god, their promised sainthood…
Beyond was only white light, none of the colours of the world… Heaven.
The girl trudged towards the grand gateway, her bare feet smothered in the blood that streamed down the man-made stone plateau.
'I shall rise through and past the steps leading to the bloody red gates of Hell, walk into thine light, thine grace which enlightens, let there be sacrifice, let there be death, all to return to mine roots… Heaven shall await. I shall become thy god, thy only god.'
As she paced up the stairs and spoke her words, below Horthemrake fought through battle after battle, against his ken whom he betrayed, battling them for the woman who seduced him.
In his long-fought battles, years passed by, decade after decade. New dragons arose, fought, and died beneath the claws and scales of the fearsome Horthemrake. Until one came, the first monarch, the immortal ancient dragon, only known for its strength, uncontested by all. All feared him, cowered to him, bowed down, and kneeled.
In this bout, Horthemrake, even with all his power, failed. His brute strength couldn't fell the monarch. Their battle went on for years, but ultimately, he was no match, falling to the maw of the monarch.
Amidst his defeat, with the lord killed and the final sacrifice in place, the eighteen thousand bodies littered and stacked in a bloodied pile, she walked out as a god.
Not a false god, but the first true god of the world.
3 Genesis
Her body itself was perfect without a hint of imperfection; her gold rained from the gate, turning the corpses of the dead into statues. Their blood, a never-ending stream of pure liquid gold. Strands of golden thread floated down from the tall gateway, the thread which she turned into a long golden braid…
In one swift swing, the dragon monarch was no more than mere stony dust.
Yet she didn't turn back to her lord's bloodied corpse, she hadn't stopped her march forth, not struck by emotions nor grief, she marched and marched, forth and past.
None dared approach her, none dared to stop her, for she is now a god, the only divine god.
Through the Demon Continent, her footsteps echoed and passed by, even in the darkness of the night, she shone brightly…
She never stopped, day and night.
She marched.
She marched forth, east.
Her march east finally ended after she reached her demolished hometown.
Her village in ruins, the elders nothing but burnt corpses, the houses reduced to nothing but powdered ashes.
"Let the world restart from here; in this place alone shall it connect to both Heaven and Hell. Let there be light, let the eternal darkness fade, shalt the ashy remains bloom into something grand… Golden, something eternal where its colour lasts forever endlessly perfect, might this tree's leaves reach to the skies above and its roots dive into the abyss below, bind the world, hold it in place, stagnant, save it."
And with that incantation, a tree sapling spiralled into existence from the ash of the ruins.
From that point on, the girl declared herself Queen and god of this world, her gospel built upon lies, her words were blasphemous statements which became the truth…
As her golden sapling grew, she nurtured it with her blood and sweat, around the girl and her tree, a sanctuary was built.
A sanctuary which smothered the ruins of her old home, above it, covering it, then a city, and further a kingdom.
Over the next thousand years, the elves became the servants of their god, building for and worshipping a self-made god.
And from that, the first empire and order arose in the Zevol Continent, the royal order of the lone queen…
4 An era of plenty
In the beginning, everything was in opposition against them.
The ancient dragons both feared and hated them for the murder of their king; the other elven kingdoms were too proud and had no intention of accepting this newly made 'god'.
Despite the odds, her new champions of gold under her rule, sieged and fought wars. After countless victories, they conquered the continent, renaming her kingdom, which spans all across the continent, as the Elven Empire.
Her champions became crowned heroes, and her people became her children, blessed by the grace the world tree once provided to 'all', an imperfect order under the rule of an imperfect god.
Nonetheless, order was created, and for once, the world was at peace, no dragons raging war or titans battling…
It was a time of prosperity, an era of plentiful prosperity and development.
Under the rule of Queen Elrith of the Royal Order, all is prosperous, and all is perfect…
But perfection is short-lived, nothing lasts forever, nothing, not even the order of god herself. Just like an Eclipse, although it's beautiful, it's only brief, a fleeting moment.
5 Damned prophecy
Years upon years went by, the queen's march became nothing but legend, then legend became myth, and after fifty thousand or so years, it was gone, buried under the depths of her sanctuary.
The queen still hadn't had a spouse; there was no king of the empire. It wasn't out of loyalty after her promised lord, Horthemrake, died in the century-long battle against his betrayed kin.
Many looked up to her majesty, her perfection and beauty, but none seemed to deem themselves worthy of her; even the greatest of warriors hadn't thought anything of their queen, only admiration from afar, knowing she was, as they say, out of their league.
She didn't put her mind to it; her focus was only to establish and withhold her order of gold, to conquer and subjugate those who defy her order. In the long years that put those rebels to the sword, she herself stayed within the safety of her capital and watered her golden sapling with her blood; her tree grew, it grew into a great tree, a world tree which shadowed the land of Zevol, enlightening the land in its golden hue instead of dimming it.
The golden tree was a blessing, as the fair folk say, its golden leaves and glistening sap blessings which ripped away true death from the high elves of the empire, their sicknesses cured, their lives prolonged, and those who got bestowed with these grace-filled blessings became known as 'the blessed children'.
Yet after her conquest, the queen had yet to feel fulfilled. Laying down her sword, she beckoned her people to return to the empire with the echoes that spoke to all who heard her whispers through grace.
"Shalt ye return, my warrior comrades who waged war upon my name, thy journey has finally reached its end, bury those who died in thine efforts, respect their names, and may they live on forever as a memorial buried under their swords. March, my warriors, through the deserts and past the mountains, and revisit thy homelands where gold now blesses those worthy, let the Arxtree's grace protect thee from the calamity to come."
And as the queen foresaw her vision of a calamity, it happened, shaking the earth and rewriting it anew. A flood erupted from beyond the edges of the white fog; the water overflowed in areas where it had once been connected to land. And though the waters crashed against the valley like Zevol, it only crashed; it never flooded, like a veil, a barrier, somehow the continent of Zevol did not turn into ruins under the sea.
The flood lasted for thousands of years, generations came and went without the knowledge of the lands outside the veil of the Arxtree, the high elves evolved, while still the fair folk, known to many, they changed, under the protection they changed.
6 A red-haired warrior
And then the lands arose once again from the depths of the deep sea, continents came to be, people, humans, beastfolk, and the reappearance of demons, now more human-like and more dignified. A new era was in place, an era of life. Though not as powerful as their ancient stony ken, the flying dragons, drakes, and wyverns returned, they settled in their nest beneath the golden statues of the divine gate, their brains only telling them to kill whoever trespassed, for there is only one god and will be no other.
Six thousand more years passed, the civilization grew and flourished, developments began as the age of building came into being, the first kingdoms and countries of humans entered the world, the tribes of the beastmen started their culture, and the Demon King Ouroboros united the demons. Yet even when all this developed in the world, the continent of Zevol remained in stasis.
A celebration was held amidst the stationary place, an event of great significance as their eternal queen has found her king, a red haired human champion of golden armor by the name of Solis, his story was never told to the world, he never had a story, it was almost like he never existed prior, yet despite all that he and the queen were like two pieces in a puzzle, the queen was what he wasn't, and he was what the queen wasn't.
And from his marriage to the queen, he became a demigod, the first of many to come; his title as champion was left in the past.
Together with her new consort, she had eight children, all Demi-Gods with their own power that can rival any king or monarch of this world. Her children were granted a radiant grace, a grace unparalleled by the grace given to the commoners of the land.
She gave her children lordship over various lands all over Zevol, and for her eldest, she gave him her braid, her braid, which once tyrannized the lands and spread fear amongst all her enemies.
Her days of conquest were long past, and her tree was dwindling, her great tree, which once lit the lands in its radiant light, was dimming.
7 Imperfection of the perfect
Could it be that the tree wasn't eternal? Could it be that the tree isn't all great? Could it be that divinity was only the work of a false god? Could it be this was all a lie?
Even though she ignored the questions and her people who demanded answers from their queen, she ran away, ignored them, and hid in her sanctum beneath her dying world tree.
The tree dimmed, its grace drowning, its blessings few and far between, and amidst all that, it became only a shell of its former glory. The children of god became rare; only in every few years would the tree grant its blessings and would the golden rays shine upon those it deemed worthy.
It became more of a myth, these children…
Chaos brewed within the depths of the empire, cults raised their flags, and rebellion was inevitable, but in this act, there was a betrayal of the queen. Her own consort left her, shattering his obsidian crown; he betrayed her and dumped her all alone to fight the waves of rebellion by herself.
Her children were powerless against the weakening morale of the order; the queen could only place hope on her eldest son, the one whom she gave her golden braid.
Soon a flame was discovered, a flame with the power to burn the once thought eternal world tree, a flame of scarlet origins, one divine and bloody. A crimson flame with the same colour as the crimson moon of the night.
The queen spoke once again, this time to her children, her echoes sorrowful and somber, as if, as she spoke, tears trickled down her cheeks and reddened her eyes; the once-thought all-powerful god is no more than a weak girl with lofty ambition.
"Run my children, for your grace is now nothing but a forsaken curse, may ye scatter across the land, become what ye wish to be, unbound by mine rule; Run away my children, might ye foresee thy future and mine empire no more; Run far upon the horizon my children, for your mother has lost her duty, may ye run and survive till the time is right. Upon my name ye shall recapture the throne once again, and we shall meet in the chamber which holds me, for I am a god, an immortal god."
After her speech, the queen disappeared, nowhere to be found, her bedchambers deserted and covered in age-old dust… Her sanctuary was searched over and over again, yet the queen wasn't there, as if she had disappeared into thin air without a trace nor hint of ever standing in the now vacant bed chambers.
Golden words written in the ancient high Elvish runes could be seen on the walls of the sanctum, and the runes translated to the words, "Only when the flame is taken from its brazier may ye unseal me, the great tree shall stand strong, even when dimming, it shall remain the only radiant light."
The empire was now without a leader, and the continent was plunged into an era of chaos.