„Before this world was created, there was nothing.“ The old man sat by the fire with children all around him, their eyes wide, waiting for his next line.

„Just darkness.... An abyss, a place where demons were born. And then there was light in the center of that terrible darkness, in the demon's nest, shining brightly, driving the demons away to the only place where darkness was left, in the corners of our universe. In the light, there was a silhouette. The silhouette grew in the light, becoming stronger and stronger, until one day it was too big for it. From that light emerged N'neznna the Creator.

He stood in the abyss in his shining armor and his giant two-handed sword, known as the Lighbringer. The Demon Lord N'nuzaa from the darkest corner of the universe saw that ever-shining light, which bothered him so much that he built an army of his most loyal generals and headed towards N'neznna to kill him.

The Demon Lord N’nuzaa, a mass of darkness, moved so fast that even his stronger generals couldn’t keep up. His shadow behind him curled up like a living serpent. His skeletal body was covered in heavy black armor with a giant crest on his chest. His red eyes burn with an unholy intensity within the darkness, approaching the light. But N’neznna The Creator saw him and his army approaching. He took the light in both hands and halved it.

He held one part of the light in his right hand and the other half in his left hand. Then he spoke, the universe started shaking, and the demons stood still, unable to move. We don’t know what he said; we will never know exactly because no one can speak the language he speaks, but his followers say it happened like this:

In ancient realm where shadows wane,

N'neznna stands, his power unchained,

From light's embrace, with hands alight,

He weaves the tapestry of life so bright.

In his right hand, a radiant gleam,

The essence of stars, a luminary dream,

From twinkling heavens, he draws the fire,

Crafting life's core, a burning desire.

His left hand cradles twilight's kiss,

A gentle touch of ethereal bliss,

From moonlit dreams, he shapes the night,

Breathing existence, a celestial flight.

With hands entwined, both dark and fair,

N'neznna forms life with utmost care,

From ever-shining light he weaves,

A symphony of existence that never leaves.

In whispered incantations, his words do flow,

Life from light, he does bestow,

A dance of creation, an ancient rite,

N'neznna crafts existence, ever so bright."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

And then the light shined even brighter. He opened his right hand. The Goddess of Fire N’elenia stood in his palm.

Her presence was like a dance of flames, with fiery red, orange, and gold particles around her. Her eyes, burning red, hold the same warmth as a roaring bonfire. Her hair was flowing like liquid metal down her back. It looked like it was alive with the constant movement of flames. Her skin, touched by the essence of fire, has a soft glow that hints at the unlimited power residing within her. Covered with a white robe and a burning staff in her left hand, she kneeled at her creator, waiting for his order.

But N’neznna’s hand shined a dimmer light compared to the two of them. N’leeyol was already kneeling, his black helmet covering his face, his black armor covering the rest of his body, and on his back the legendary sword The Black Sun.

“Rise,” and so they did. “Fight with me, my servants; defeat our enemy.”

The battle they fought lasted for centuries, but the battle came to an end.

N’elenia and N’leeyol have beaten N’nuzaa’s army, and N’nuzaa is left alone. Wounded and beaten, he escaped into the darkness. For a long time, N’leeyol and N’elenia looked for him in the darkest corners, but to no avail; he was simply gone.

When N’elenia and N’leeyol returned to their creator, they saw a small planet, and on that planet, he created us, the Luminarae. His second creation was the place where he gave life. He told N’elenia to give us fire, and so she did, and he told N’leeyol to give us his light to be part of our souls, and so he did. So our souls are created from N’elenia’s fire and N’leeyol’s light, and with N’neznna’s order, we are their sons and daughters.”

“Is that why, when a person dies, the soul he drops looks like that?” The old man looked at the child who interrupted him—one of the few children born in the past few centuries. He patted the child on the head.

"Yes, my child, our souls shine with dim light, and inside they are filled with fire. The stronger the person was, the stronger the fire.” He had everyone’s attention; his words touched their hearts.

" And N’neznna gave the two of them another order.

He said, “Make them worship me; don’t let them forget me. I, who am theirs and yours creator, need to go to sleep. I will return when the time is right; until then, don’t let them forget their creator.”

He took the Lightbringer and stabbed himself through the stomach; the light swallowed him whole, and the same source of life from which he came centuries ago stood in his place, shining and giving life to this earth.

N’elenia and N’leeyol made other gods that were sent here to guide us. They were the only ones who were able to communicate with them, giving them orders on what we needed to do. So we built temples, shrines, and other places to worship our creator. We were blessed with immortality. We didn’t need to eat, sleep, or drink. We just lived to pray to N'neznna the Creator.

We also prayed to N’elenia and N’leeyol and their sons and daughters, which took many different shapes and forms. But that story I will tell you some other time.

But many centuries passed, and N'neznna the Creator never woke up, and N’elenia and N'leeyol, tired of waiting, went to slumber, leaving us with their sons and daughters. They protected us for a long time, but then a tragedy happened.”

The old man looked up at the sky; three suns stood high in the sky, two smaller ones and one much larger, almost split in half.

" The Demon Lord N’nuzaa came back for his revenge, and with his giant sword, he cut through the light of our creator. The universe screamed in pain; the sky wept, not in rain. The sky was bleeding, and the ground, once thirsty for life-giving water, was now absorbed in red blood.

The trees stood like silent witnesses to this unnatural event, their branches bowing under the weight of blood pouring from the sky. A horrific age for us indeed. N'nuzaa, because of the giant explosion of light, wounded himself, and he almost died. But before he went into hiding to lick his wounds, he gave an order to his followers:

“Go and destroy the world he built. Take control over it and rule it in my name.”

His followers came here, destroying everything in their path. Our gods, led by Zikion, Protector of the Sky, a god that took the shape of a dragon, fought them for many centuries with his brothers and sisters and, of course, us. But we were no match for the unlimited number of our enemies. They kept coming, and we grew weaker in number; we were no match.

Many gods died, and many of us died, and the demons took control of the main keep. The golden gates of our biggest temple, made for N’neznna, can still be seen today. Many believe that the gods that survived are still there, defending that place with our kind. They still live like many centuries ago, not like we live now in hiding. But some also say that all the gods are dead and the demons are controlling the temple, and our kind is there in their mercy. The golden gate, once always open to everyone, is now forever closed. The legend says the only way to open it is to go to the four towers and ring their bells. That will give you the blessing of entering the temple. But that path is full of danger; many left to do so, but none returned.

Did they die on their mission, or did they enter the gates? We will never know. But one thing is for sure: our mother, N'elenia, is slowly waking up. Every few centuries, she chooses a champion who fights in her name, with her blessings, to fight and kill the demons. I met other travelers who were just like me, the keepers of our history, they claim that in every hidden village, just like this one, many gods are choosing their champions, trying to destroy the demons as much as they can before the return of our creator. They still believe that he will return because you can’t kill the light.”

The old man looked at the fire in front of him, resting for a moment. A small kid, with rags on instead of clothing, jumped around them, yelling, “Perpeso died; his soul is with the Elders. There are still some pieces left, if you’re fast enough.”

Everyone jumped to their feet and rushed to the elders. Their eyes were hungry; they probably didn’t eat for centuries. The hunger in them is uncontrollable. But one kid was still sitting there on the dirt floor in front of the old man. His red eyes were looking at him.

“Don’t you want to go and eat, son?” The old guy asked him.

“I would rather hear one of your stories.”

“You are not like the others, and because of that, I will let you choose the story you want to hear.”

“But how will I know what stories you know?”

“You won’t” The old man smiled at him.

“Do you know the story of this village?”

“Nijerel, the village of light. Of course I know. Did you know that right here, in front of us, this fire was once a shrine to the goddess N’elenia?” The old man asked the child.

“I did not know that,” the kid answered. “Is that the way that fire is always burning?”

“Yes, you are correct. N’elenia blessed this fire herself; that is why it is always burning and why no demon can enter this village, because it is protected by her fire.” The old man said. He continued speaking; the child was the only one there, sitting in front of him, in front of that fire, listening to the story of his village.