In the beginning, there was only the Void—a boundless expanse of silence, neither dark nor light, where nothing stirred. From that silence, a single sound arose, a pure, unbroken note that carried through the emptiness like a ripple through still water. This was the First Note, the seed of creation, and it resonated through the Void with a power no silence could contain.
The Elves believe this First Note was sung by the Old Gods, beings of immeasurable wisdom and strength, who, through their music, shaped the world from nothingness. Together, their voices wove the Great Song, a melody that brought form to the formless, light to the darkness, and life to the empty void. This Song became the foundation upon which all things were built.
At the heart of the Great Song, the gods gave life to Sylvathar, the World Tree, whose roots burrowed deep into the earth and whose branches stretched to touch the heavens. Sylvathar was more than wood and leaf; it was the axis upon which all creation balanced, the conduit between the realms of the living and the divine. Every leaf upon its branches represented a soul yet to be born, and its roots held the memories of all who had passed.
The world blossomed from Sylvathar's presence. Its roots formed the mountains, its branches became the sky, and from its leaves fell the seeds of life that spread across the land. Magic flowed through these roots like blood through veins, touching every living thing. For the Elves, magic was not a tool to be wielded—it was life itself, the breath of the gods woven into the very fabric of the world.
From this sacred tree came the Firstborn, the Elves, formed from the pure essence of the World Tree. The Elves were not simply creatures of flesh and blood; they were notes in the Great Song, bound to Sylvathar’s harmony. Their purpose was to tend to the world, to guard the balance between creation and destruction, and to ensure the Great Song continued without discord. To them was entrusted the knowledge of the Old Magic, and through this connection, they remained eternal, as long as Sylvathar endured.
Yet, not all gods sang in perfect harmony. Among them was Coeus, a god unlike the others. Coeus, in his infinite intellect and ambition, believed himself to be the axis of creation, the center around which all things must turn. While the other gods revered Sylvathar as the heart of the universe, Coeus grew resentful, questioning why a mere tree held such a central role. To him, the world should revolve around reason and order—his reason, his order.
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“Why should a tree hold dominion over the heavens and the earth?” Coeus mused, his voice filled with cold certainty. “If I uproot it, would not the heavens themselves shift? Would the world not recognize its true center?” His mind turned, restless with the thought of pulling Sylvathar from the earth, to test whether the world would reorder itself around him.
For Coeus believed that if Sylvathar were no longer the axis, the very cosmos would recognize his supremacy. He envisioned a world where the stars and the heavens would bend to his will, where the Great Song would echo with his voice as the central melody.
But the other gods, wise and attuned to the balance of the world, saw the danger in Coeus’s ambition. Sylvathar was more than a tree—it was the balance that held creation together. To sever its roots would be to unravel the very fabric of existence, to break the harmony that bound the stars, the land, and the souls of the living.
Thus, the Great Conflict began. Coeus, driven by his vision of a reordered universe, sought to uproot Sylvathar, to cast the World Tree aside and take its place as the fulcrum of creation. The other gods, led by the Singers of Creation, rallied to protect the Tree. The battle that followed shook the very foundations of the world. The stars trembled, and the sky darkened as their song clashed against Coeus’s ambition.
The Elves tell that during this great struggle, the Twin Stars, Skyla and Charidisis, wept tears of light that fell to the earth. These tears became the Fae, mystical beings born of starlight and magic, who joined the Elves in their sacred duty to guard Sylvathar. The Fae, with their delicate grace and eternal wisdom, wove their own magic into the roots of the World Tree, strengthening it against Coeus’s attempts to uproot it.
Coeus, despite his cunning and power, could not overcome the combined might of the gods and the harmony of the Great Song. His voice, discordant and strained, could not silence the unity of the other gods. In the end, Coeus was cast down, bound deep within the Void from which the First Note had arisen. His power was sealed away, but the Elves know that the echo of his ambition still lingers, a faint shadow in the world’s harmony.
For the Elves, the memory of Coeus’s rebellion serves as a reminder of the fragility of balance. Sylvathar remains at the heart of their world, its roots deep in the earth, its branches high in the heavens. As long as the World Tree stands, the Great Song continues, and the Elves believe it is their sacred duty to protect that harmony.
In their rituals, the Elves sing the Song of Sylvathar, a melody passed down through generations. Each note, each verse, is a reminder of their role in the grand tapestry of life, a reminder that they are but one note in the Great Song, tasked with maintaining the balance between creation and ambition.
And so, they live in harmony with the world, knowing that the Song must continue, that the roots of Sylvathar must remain strong. Yet, they also know that Coeus’s whisper still lingers in the shadows of the Void, waiting for a moment of weakness when his ambition might rise again, threatening to unmake all that the Great Song has built.