My story does not begin in Venarith, nor does it end in Venarith, but the Chronicles are not my story - they are the story of a world, and its awakening. This is the tale of the Fall of the Gods and the Shattering of Venarith.

When we were yet young and overwhelmed by our newfound freedom, some of us found solace in creation. Perhaps it was a way to remember our father, or a way to replace him. Nonetheless, we found ourselves experimenting with our now unfettered abilities, and many of us were gripped with an obession to do what our father had: create life and watch it blossom. Under our control, of course. Even without our father's teachings we were not fools. Most of us, anyway.

As we turned away from our father's work, we were so enraptured by the idea of creating life - pure, radiant life - that we ignored the planes collapsing around us. We ignored the lives being snuffed out, the worlds being obliterated. The encroaching void. By the time we realised what we had lost, thousands of worlds had already been devoured by nothingness. For most of us, it was devastating and, in a few, sparked dangerous thoughts. Thoughts and regrets. It was hard to accept that Tlamanuanil was only sleeping. Dormant, in a precarious balance between oblivion and awakening. In time, we would come to rue dismissing him. Those of us who were still able to feel.

We were able to save but a handful of planes, though only through channelling the full extent of everyone's power through a single vessel. Of course, Apachuil volunteered to risk himself as that vessel. Even then, Apachuil was regarded with respect and called the 'Eldest' - a rare acknowledgement of the passage of time from my brothers and sisters, who tended to focus on the abstract rather than the material. No one else volunteered, each with their own selfish reasons, myself included. Despite everyone's co-operation, we were scarcely able to match our father's power, who had managed each plane so effortlessly, so effectively.

In hindsight, perhaps using a single vessel was a mistake. The combined energy of three hundred entities channelling their life force into Apachuil nearly destroyed him. I can still remember his screams. I can also remember that not once did he ask us to stop. He always placed others before himself. Regardless, the entire endeavour was undoubtedly a failure. So many of our father's worlds destroyed...

Upon examining those few worlds we did manage to save, we found a complexity of life hitherto unimaginable. Tlamanuanil had crafted billions of individual entities, each part of an expansive ecosystem sustaining each world without his constant presence. I clearly remember Apachuil telling me, 'So this is what we have lost.' That was the closest anyone I knew had ever come to saying they were regretful.

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We set out to replicate our father's work, expand upon it, and eventually rebuild the planes which had collapsed. Eons of experimentation and careful creation passed, until we gathered a Council to discuss the creation of the most complex world we would ever create, one to rival even our father's finest. Apachuil called the most powerful gods to the First Conclave: Nahua, Aikinilisti, Harithi, Taluan and myself were among them. There was an unlikely oddity among those summoned to the gathering; every god who accepted the invitation was an adept at the art of creation, save one - Nahua, immensely skilled at the art of destruction, or 'reforging' as she liked to call it. At the time, I paid little attention to her presence, focused solely on my brother.

Apachuil announced the purpose of this meeting plainly, without embellishment. Typical Apachuil. 

'Brothers and sisters. I call you here to the Conclave to discuss a great matter.' Apachuil raised bronzed arms trailing white robes to the heavens, and a glittering quartz ceiling formed above us. Towering pillars followed, and pale paving slabs materialised beneath our feet. A gleaming throne erupted out of the ground, which he lowered himself into. He always was the best creator. 'We are about to embark on our greatest challenge yet, one that comes close to what Tlamanuanil achieved.' Murmuring rose briefly in the hall; we tended not to name our father, fearing every mention of what we had left behind. 'A world brimming with intelligent, complex life. One race more advanced than any we have created before it. A race of mortal creatures fashioned in our chosen image, one which I hope that, given time, we can leave to develop the world on its own.' This caused greater murmurs; Apachuil had not mentioned this before.

Taluan was the first to speak besides Apachuil, carefully arranging her iron plated robes. 'And how can we ensure that these mortals will govern the world well in our absence? We have already seen the fickleness of lesser beings and what it can do to a world.'

'How can we be sure that chaos does not reign in their stead?' added Harithi. 'We cannot have any conflict or destruction.' He looked aghast at having mentioned physical violence, and stepped backwards, smoothing his features. A few deities nodded in agreement, however.

Apachuil merely smiled. 'This race will have intelligence nearing our own. They will be above mere squabbling and conflict.' Faith. That was what he prided himself on, more than anything else. Faith that beings similar to us could behave like us. This was before rifts opened up between the children of Tlamanuanil and factions formed in response to the newly named human race.

Scarcely waiting for her brother to finish, Nahua spoke, predictably abrupt. 'When do we begin?'

The first leader of the Conclave stood in a motion that would soon become the standard dismissal of the ruling god. 'Now.'