Once upon a time, there was a cave. A cave up in the mountains, surrounded with water and earth. The mountain was old, as old as the world when it first emerged from the primordial waters and fire, which had too came from something else. Somewhere out in the infinite chasm known as the cosmos — but that was irrelevant.
The cave was younger.
Just a bit less than the mountain..
The cave sat on the side of the mountain, under a rocky cliff.
And in the cave, there was nothing. No life, no strange divinity, no eldritch powers lurking about. It was but a simple cave, formed by water and the years, just like the other millions upon the earth.
However, outside the cave, life blossomed and the world changed like sand dunes in the wind. Under the cave and above it grew the first trees and grass, and not too soon after them, little creatures came about from the soil and dirt.
And in the blink of an eye, the people came about.
Of course, they were nothing like the humans, elves, dwarves and countless other races you would know about. Their arms were long, their legs bowled and their back hunched over.
These were the first humans — strange creatures that barely knew how to survive. A strange power shed them of their furs, of their sharp teeth and claws that all beasts have. And under this strange power, they learned how to use the nature around them, binding rocks and and sticks into tools.
These beings, the Ancient Ones became strong creatures, and very much unlike their descendants. They contained an unbound vigour and will power within them, much like the chaotic and unformed nature of the world that was then. They were a strange people where no one was alike in anyway. They had no genders, no confined forms, their nature as undefined as shifting sands.
And one such colony happened upon the cave in the mountain.
The world was much harsher back then. Nothing upon the earth would last in the storms and water that was common. Even the Ancient Ones must flee the wrath of the unfinished world.
In search of refuge, the Ancient Ones came into the cave, barefeet and proud, lead by their leader whom was named, “Kung’ar’a”.
“The cave would make a grand home!” proclaimed Kung’ar’a, and so it was. With their crafty hands and mind, they made the cave to their liking with their sparks, wild and untamed like themselves. However, the cave was lifeless, lacking the sparks that make the Ancient Ones came to be.
Putting their heads together, they decided that the cave shall come alive too, in return for giving shelter to the Ancient Ones.
From outside the cave, the Ancient Ones gathered all forms of life, seeds from trees and critters from the ground. They gathers the water and earth, enriched with the Sun and Moon’s first rays through the heavens.
With these, the Ancient Ones planted a tree in the deepest recess of the cave.
A gift, if you will.
The tree grew quickly, much quicker than any other other tree should be. Most trees would feed upon the earth, water and sun to live — but this tree grew in a strange fashion. The hardy bark would glow in the darkness like the radiant Sun itself, the leaves would shimmer like the gentle moonlight. Under the grand tree, blades of grass grew, the critters flourished on its sap and fruit. From under it’s roots, water gushed out like a mighty river, bringing forth the endless torrent of life.
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It was a tree unlike any other.
A tree that encompassed the small world that was the cave, sheltering all that was within.
With pride and joy, the leader of the Ancient Ones who planted the seed named the tree and the cave, “Sanctuary”..
And in harmony, the Ancient Ones lived in the cave for many many years. Years beyond a thousand, beyond what numbers then could be counted.
But all things will eventually pass away.
Kung’ar’ra was getting old.
He was the first of the Ancient Ones, and his age beyond measure.
With his own life, he measured the age of the world, deciding that the refuge can finally come to an end. The chaotic power that sustained the Ancient Ones calmed and waned as the world settled in, the founding pillars and laws that dictate the natural world solidified.
As his last wish, he spoke to his people, “Go forth, my kinsmen and children! The world is now still and life can grow safely. It is time for us to regrow the world, instead of living within are home for all eternity.”
His kinsmen agreed to his words and wisdom, but were reluctant to leave the Sanctuary. It was all that they knew of.
Sensing this, Kung’ar’a fashioned the first tools from the branches of the tree and rocks of the cave, bound with the tendons of the creatures around.
With these tools, they went on and prospered around the world, and so that the tree would be with them wherever they go. Joined by their companions of birds and beasts of burden, the Ancient Ones set out to explore the world.
Kung’ar’a, however, didn’t join them on their expedition. He was an old man, having spent the last of his energy to create the tools and weapons of his kins. With tears on their faces, Kung’ar’a’s own son led the people out of the world to seek their future, wherever it may be.
Some lived upon the great grasslands, riding horses and brandishing their spears.
Some went into the earth, living under the stones and with it, crafting a world that was as resolute as the mountains themselves.
Some lived among the trees, living in harmony with nature itself as a part of it, their own selves both wild and elegant in beauty.
Some went and returned to the primordial seas, where everything once came from. Their nimble hands grew claws again, their hairless bodies grew scales instead, like their ancient cousins that never left the seas.
However, as time passed, the descendants slowly lost their spark, the power of the unformed world, becoming the people that walked the earth today.
And soon, Kung’ar’a was all that was left in the cave, leaning against the tree.
He knew that he was dying.
There he laid, in the soft grass and roots of the tree, he exhaled his last breath and became still.
The inhabitants of the cave lowered their heads and whimpered at his passing. The critters laid down and whined, the birds turned silent and the insects stilled. The earth rumbled, dust and ash peeling off the ceiling as it shook.
The first being of the world died, and the world mourned his passing.
And for a long time, grief was all that there was in the cavern.
But that was not the end of the story. That was only a new beginning.
The body of Kung’ar’a erupted in golden flames, his essence unraveling and pouring into the roots of the tree. The light was so bright that it would seem that the world had caught on fire as it did eons ago, dousing everything in a golden glow, the beasts of the tree shutting their eyes in fright.
As suddenly as the flame came, it also extinguished into gentle silver wisps, trailing off into the air.
The cave stilled once more. Tentatively, the beasts opened their eyes once more.
In place of the body that was belonged to Kung’ar’a, there was a small huddled form. A small body that glowed softly, one that the beasts recognised as ones that the Ancient Ones have. It was a beautiful sight, a beauty that sang of the stars, the earth and all that was good in the world and all that should be treasured.
In wonder and admiration, the critters and birds slowly approached.
The child, as it was, gave a small mewling cry. The sound echoed through the cave, drawing all ears to it for the child was the life bearer.
And from that point on, the beasts, critters and birds of the Sanctuary decided that the child shall be raised as their own, and shall live a life that befits her.
And just like that, life continued on.