The Era of Darkness

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A story of betrayal, bondage, and a broken gate. As sung in the Lament of Gi'lion — an Or'sìth dream-chant rarely spoken aloud.

"When the flood ended, the fire began."

And when the waters of the great surge had receded, and the survivors had come forth from hiding, there was peace.
For the Mal'akh descended and taught freely, and mortals received wisdom with open hands.
And in the goodness of that age, mortals built Caelunora — a city that rose like a dream given stone and light.
And within Caelunora they raised the Tower of Gi'lion, whose highest stones were said to graze the floor of the Celestial Stratum.
And a Aethborn king was chosen to rule over both earth and heaven, that the two might be joined in harmony.
And it was good.

But Vu'hurael looked upon the city, and upon the tower, and upon the king who walked between two worlds.
And whether it was envy that moved them, or fear of what mortals were becoming, the elders do not agree.
Some say Vu'hurael despised the elevation of mortal kind. Others say the Tower had pierced too close to the sealed heavens.
Whatever the cause, Vu'hurael gathered a vast host of Asura, and they descended upon Caelunora.
And the Tower fell. And the king was slain. And the people were scattered like seed before the wind, or taken into bondage.
Upon the rubble, Vu'hurael raised Dwaravati — a palace of shadow and blood, a throne built from the bones of what had been.
And there the Greantos were born — children of mortal and Asura, bound to Vu'hurael's will from the hour of their making.
And for over twelve thousand years, the sky above Adamah was iron, and the air was ash.

Yet even in shadow, hope moves quietly.
And there arose among the mortals a woman named Lirien, who would not bow, and who would not forget.
And Lirien gathered a secret sect and called them the Solvari — seekers of lost truth — and she led them in search of the Six Ohros, who were cut off, and imprisoned, and forgotten.
And her path led her to Tetorlaious, the space between all spaces, the void between all realms.
And there she found Kalabel, the Gatekeeper — he who had been appointed by the Ohros to guard all crossings.
For Kalabel was bound to duty without end, neither alive nor dead, and he had been trapped since the age before memory, and he longed for release.
And Vu'hurael had come to him in that place and made an offer: freedom, in exchange for severing the last link to the Celestial Stratum.
And Kalabel had agreed.
Then Vu'hurael betrayed him.
And the gate was broken. And the way back was lost. And the heavens were sealed a second time.

But Lirien looked upon Kalabel — shattered, bound, and forgotten — and she did not turn away.
And she offered her body as a vessel, that his essence might pass through her, and that the gate might be opened once more.
And through her sacrifice, the way was restored.
And the heavens opened.

And the Ohros descended in sorrow and in fire, and their Mal'akh legions came with them.
Among the first was Vaelthar, a radiant warrior, who sought out Zar'ûn — the first Dai-Oni, once a Mal'akh, now twisted beyond remembrance by Vu'hurael's long work.
And Vaelthar slew Zar'ûn.
But Serath, Queen of Fire, struck Vaelthar down in turn.
And where his body fell, the waters that gathered became the Crimson Sea, and they have not changed color since.
And the final war lasted ten years, and the mountains bled ash, and mortals whispered prayers into the dark.
And at the end, Vu'hurael was captured.
And Dwaravati was drowned and sealed beneath oceans older than memory, and it has not been seen since.

And the cost was great. Whole regions of Adamah were laid waste. Civilizations crumbled. The survivors forgot more than they remembered.
And the Ohros, mourning what had been lost, reshaped Adamah once more — a world renewed, untainted, given again.
And they departed.
But before they departed, they left behind choirs of Mal'akh to safeguard the land: the Wardens, and the Luminars, and the Veilbound, and the Aegis.
And they made a pact with mortal kind: that from time to time, the Ohros would return in mortal guise, to walk among them, and to ensure that Vu'hurael remained imprisoned.
And for eight centuries, peace ruled the land. The faithful built monuments. The Aethborn walked again. And at dusk, the people said to one another:
"The fire is gone. The gate is watched. We are safe."
But even now, some say the flood returns as flame.
And the Tower of Gi'lion, long buried, still remembers.

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