CHAPTER 1
The Celestial Forge
By: Schin Ka’Tharos
To those I leave behind,
I write this so that you may know the reason for the end of our age, the breaking of the Order of the Arcane and their gods, and the truth of the Celestial Forge. Let me tell you of how I first came to eat of the Celestial manna and harness the Wandering Flame. May this guide you to understanding.
To begin, I must tell you of my grandfather.
When the Great Celestial Rain first fell my Grandfather was still a young man, a year yet from his age of travelling. During my days living with him, he would enchant me with tales of his youth without fail at the close of each day when darkness overtook the light and all chores on our farm were finished. We would sit around the fire drinking, eating and watching the intermittent starfall streak the sky, the Minor Rain as we call it now. He would always work his way into a story, often long and grandiose. He had fought in the Heavenly Magus War which had followed the Great Celestial Rain, and was an ardent yet patient historian of that age. I knew not then how long ago that had age had truly been.
Grandfather was a master storyteller and a gifted orator. Whether his story was real or imagined, I would become lost in their perceived reality, captivated by his passion. Often he would leave me to decipher whether his tale had truly happened. Many times he would recall an event in a different manner, retelling the story from a different perspective as if he had lived it twice. Most of his tales would have a lesson or warning woven into their narrative, driving home truths grandfather seemed desperate to impart.
One common lesson, served as a warning of the power of might and ideals. He would recount first hand encounters of the inevitable downfall it brought to those around him.
“Be wary of the power of might and ideals Schin my boy, both breed corruption, greed and deceit. Many men and women are fine and decent, but power, gained through might or through the ideal can lead any man or woman to ruin. Fear the power in one’s might. It must be wielded with the utmost care. The sword sheathed is a might worth daring. Also, fear the collective mind, for in the midst of the fine and noble hearted you will find those who are poison to mankind and abound in treachery. Often it is the way of things that their rotten nature can permeate throughout the whole of the group, corrupting it to their own misguided ideals and laying chaos and havoc in their wake. They twist the pure desires seeping from the noble heart and weave them into deadly schemes. And many good fellows will look back and regret the deeds they abided in, within the thrall of the mob, but deeds they helped manifest nonetheless. With real consequences and real devastation.“
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Ultimately Grandfather said the corruption of power through might and ideals had caused him to move far from civilization and the great cities, bringing him to settle out in the midst of the Unending Wastelands far beyond the reach of civilization. This is where I grew up, under his care, the only home I knew of for the first twenty years of my life.
Thus, we lived alone, my grandfather and I, rarely seeing another soul. It’s how he liked it, craving his isolation.
“I have to have my peace my boy, it’s what's best for me and what's best for the world. It may not be what I deserve, but I’ve been blessed to have it and blessed to give it."
While in large part an agreeable and modest man, my grandfather's moods would grow sour every now and again, and he would begin to grumble about how long it was taking Cyio to come around. As I saw it Uncle Cyio was the only friend or family the two of us had. Uncle was a lean man of normal stature and mostly bland features, but I could always tell from afar by his outline on the horizon that it was he. I have mused in the past on what the signifier was, either his confident gate or the odd way sunlight shimmered on his bronze skin, creating an ethereal haze around him from a distance, especially if the sun sat low near days end.
As such, It was most often near sundown when Uncle Cyio would arrive. A quiet figure with a determined and steady approach, cresting the horizon of either the North, East, South or West. We lived in a shallow valley with a ridge extending around us in a near perfect circle, and we had clear vision for about a mile in any given direction. Grandfather said he liked to know his surroundings, which was one reason why he had built his farm there. He even had some way of knowing when someone approached even before they were within eyesight. Anytime I had breached the subject of his over vigilance he would respond with some version of “Always know where you are in the world, Schin. Look around you, truly look and see . At all times know where you are and pay attention to the place you are planning on going.”
It had always baffled me why Uncle Cyio never came from any particular direction or road with no discernable pattern or path, every visit a new approach. I asked him about this once over tea, and he responded glibly.
“I come from where I was, arrived at where I am and will go where I’ll be. Now don't bother your Uncle with such pointless questions.”
Cyio of course is not my Uncle, my grandfather would remind me of this every time he visited, but Cyio always insisted I call him Uncle as he had known me from my earliest of days.
“I’ve watched you grow since your toes stretched no longer than a short sword, kiddo. And don't you recall all the times I’ve watched over you while your grandfather left on his little journeys. Besides I’ve always wanted to be an Uncle and I do believe I am very much that to you.“
So it was when Uncle Cyio came, he would be greeted by my both relieved and ill-tempered grandfather and the two would go inside the house to have a discussion while I continued my toils in the fields. Eventually a calmer grandfather would emerge with Uncle Cyio in tow, both quietly joining me in the daily toils until we found ourselves by the fire as we did every night. I have always felt a great connection to Uncle Cyio, and would greatly look forward to his visits. All felt right in the world when he was around, laughing and sharing stories with grandfather, the fire crackling along in agreement. The flames always seemed to burn brighter and hotter when Uncle was around and we would carry on into the deep hours of the night.
I start here, with this imperfect and scattered retelling in hope that you may come to understand me better, and judge me justly accordingly. For my grandfather’s name you surely know and my Uncle’s true name you may not but you know of him nonetheless. My grandfather has gone by many names over the years, I have come to learn, you may know him by some of them. Near the end of the First Heavenly Magus War he was most commonly known as The Warden of Death, the Herald of Shadows Flame and first of the Impure Knights, Jian the Blightbringer. As for Cyio, my grandfather's one true friend and my beloved Uncle, he is the incarnate itself, the Worldwalker and an embodied divine, Cyion’Sa the Wandering Flame.
Next Chapter...
Chapter 2: I Did Not Seek Power, I Only Sought To Hold Onto Peace.