I. Prelude

Aether, Essence and Void.

Three vital substances, the elements from which all things are born, and to which all things must eventually return.

In the beginning, they churned and roiled, combining and separating and combining again in the nothingness of the Great Beyond, twisting, raging, until — at last — they settled.

And in their settling, came the First Ones.

II. Confluence

One by one they came into being, the elements imbuing the Great Beyond with their magic, and one by one they formed, and awakened, and reached out.

Among them were great dreamers, with the stories of creation written in their hearts, while others learned to shape the elements to their will, to bring these stories into form.

Within most was a longing to understand and to explore, to traverse the Great Beyond — seeking what, they did not know — but in their travels, bringing the forces of existence with them, expanding their influence into the vast, vast nothingness.

One by one, the First Ones left their birthplace, until only a small few remained, for they had grown fond of one another in their nascency and did not wish to part. Of similar drive and desire they were, delighting one another with their tales and playing among the elements, forming shapes and concepts from their substance.

In time, it was decided — though they did not always agree in their designs, they were capable of more together than apart.

III. Creation

After much toil and deliberation, the First Ones set to work, weaving the Aether and the Essence and the Void into a tapestry of shape and form and concept.

They brought forth the existence of all things — of earth and fire, air and water, light and shadow; of spirit and magic and flesh.

And in this little world, once it was nearly complete, they placed their most beloved creation.

Life.

Spreading like a blaze, it blossomed in its myriad forms, from the verdant wilds, to the depths of the ocean, to the deepest places beneath the earth. Each creature was a pinpoint in an intricate web, all balanced with the most delicate precision, each with a role and a function, each loved dearly by their creators.

Of these creatures, however, there were only a few that the First Ones had made most in their image. The custodians, they were, capable of creation in their own little ways, makers of art and story and song. With their little hands, they made tools and raised villages, and with their little voices sang praise to their creators, who in turn lavished them in love and attention.

So enamored by the songs of their creations, the First Ones sought to make their world perfect, but in this found much difficulty — for like the First Ones themselves, their songs were not always in harmony.

IV. Divergence

"The sky grows too dark when the moon is new! Oh Illuminated One, take pity on my people, for we fear for ourselves in the dead of night!"

"It is too bright, Lord of Deep Places, and the garish sun pains me to stand in! Bathe the world in shadow, so that I may stand in all places!"

"Mother of the Wilds, we cannot always catch the fleet-footed beasts! Tame them, we beg, so we may never go hungry!"

"Oh, Great Hunter! Provide us with challenge, so that we may show our strength and dominion over even the most savage of your creatures! We crave the hunt, and its valor!"

So began the schism between the First Ones. Though they did not always agree on the makeup of their world, its balance of light and shadow, the nature of its magics and its creatures, their delight in its creation was enough to pacify their quarrels.

Now, though, with so many little voices calling out to them, it was all too easy to remember past differences. In their struggle to please their creations, the countless tiny alterations each made to the world grew greater and greater until neither the First Ones nor their Children could find peace.

In this, two factions emerged — those who loved the Aether, the light and order and illumination of things, and those who loved the Void, with its dark mysteries and tranquil shadow. They began to argue bitterly, unable to agree on a balance that suited all, until it became apparent that compromise could never be met.

After much grief, it was decided — they would split their world in two, so each faction could rule their lands as they saw fit, and care for their people as they needed.

Six there were on either side, with three who loved all, regardless of its makeup, and these three would move between the worlds as they pleased, welcome in both Pantheons to this day.

And so, their creations were put into a slumber, and they set about unravelling their little world, untangling their creation until two worlds remained in its place — one of light, and one of darkness.

Above and Below.

V. Reawakening

Slowly, the children of each world awoke, and for a time, there was peace, for now there were fewer obstacles for the First Ones to care for all of their creatures. They took pleasure in their creations once more, nurturing and meddling and listening to their songs. To their people, they provided all things, for their lives were short — any life is short, when you are so old as the First Ones — and they loved them dearly.

Soon, however, each Pantheon realized that it was not rival collaborators who had created their vexation, but the meddling itself which was its source. As their beloved creations grew in number, they demanded much. Where one plea was answered, one would be left unregarded, for in their imperfection and limited ability, the First Ones could not acquiesce to every whim.

Still, they could not bear to leave their people without aid, so Cyllenus, Facilitator between the Pantheons, gifted his brethren with the Messengers.

VI. Dissolution

The Messengers were a gift beloved by their Pantheons, and through them, the First Ones could speak to their creations and guide them, in place of meddling directly in their lives.

No more were mountains raised and flattened, marshes drained and filled, rivers turned to streams and streams to great, wide lakes. No more were beasts changed to suit the needs of the Children, or edible plants grown in well-tended gardens for their pleasure and sustenance — now, they would learn to use what was given to them, the Messengers speaking the guidance of their creators.

And though it pained them, the First Ones at last took their shaping hands from their worlds and, in their place, left knowledge.

Gradually a balance was reached between within the two worlds, and gradually the little voices quieted their songs in volume and number, for they now did not depend so fully on their creators for their needs. They worked their land, and tamed its beasts, and planted their own gardens, and their creators were proud.

Only, after awhile, there remained a single piece that did not fit into the balance.

The Messengers.

Their task, however much they yearned to fill it, was full of strife and longing. For despite their devotion, some grew bitter, as not all messages were pleasant to deliver, and not all receivers were grateful in their receiving. Many, too, became enamored with the world they visited, with their myriad creations, and fell to melancholy that they could never truly join it.

It was the Great Liberator, Eleutherias, who first saw this folly, and with the soothing words of Cyllenus, they sought to release the Messengers from their fate. At first, the Pantheons were loathe to relinquish their gifts, for they loved them dearly and they served their purpose well. But what was love, if it caused its objects such distress?

With bitter hearts, the First Ones said farewell and lulled them to sleep, severing the strings of their connection, changing and shaping them until at last they awoke, suited to their worlds and woven deep into their fabric.

In this, the Pantheons swore to watch their creations and meddle only in small ways, for finally, a balance had been struck.

And so was, so it is, and so it shall be.