Among the granite hills, blanketed in chaparral forest and fed by the powerful Dragon, three gods made their home. The god of rock shaped the worn mountains into wide, flat plateaus upon which man might reside – high and safe from the creatures of the dark that prowled the land. The goddess of oceans blessed the hills and valleys with abundant rains. Youngest among them, the goddess of growing things conjured food and shelter from the stone, urging her trees to root in sheer rock as easily as loam.

  Men and women from all the unnamed tribes flocked to this sanctuary, safe from the monsters, and made their homes among the mesas. They settled on all the hills except the tallest, a shorn mountain peak reserved for the gods themselves.

  The mortals imagined that as a place of mystery and wisdom from which the gods reigned.

  “And at this point, I have one foot in its mouth, one foot in its eye socket, and nothing but sand in my hands. The damned thing is chewing on my ankle like a toy, turns out its bodily fluids are all acidic, and the salt grinding against my face is giving me a wicked rash!” the powerful young man exclaimed, miming the battle vigorously.

  His name was Hylas, and he was built as thick and strong as the peaks of his namesake.

  Verdandi giggled, reclining upon her vine and nibbling grapes.

  Lynne smiled at the antics from her pool, floating easily on her back. She listened with half a mind, well familiar with Hylas’ tales. They grew with every telling, but he told them with such honest gusto that she felt no need to intercede.

  No priests pestered them. No churches begged for doctrines. This was the dawn of civilization, a time when men who required the services of the gods would go and ask them.

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  The Peak finished his story, his booming voice shaking the rafters, and silence fell through the temple.

  Verdandi giggled again. The sound made little flowers bloom across her vine. After a moment, she composed herself. “This is a good place. This is a good work.”

  Hylas slapped his bronzed knee. “To speak honestly amongst friends, I would never have been able to vanquish many of my foes without the magics that you two have shown me.”

  “I as well,” Verdandi agreed. “Eldest?”

  Both turned to regard the oldest among them.

  Lynne rose, waist deep in the calm waters. “I am glad to be joined here.”

  Three among the holy, ready to carve a new Eden. Though the history of that lost garden was hazy and incomplete, surely they would draw down such a sanctuary with their combined power.

  Young, swollen in their own importance, and united against the dumb monsters that slithered in the shadows…What did they know of enemies?

  “What we build here could last for centuries,” Verdandi said. She was so young, but her aspect already tasted the flow of time with the patience of the oldest oaks. “We should christen a memorial.”

  She motioned to their temple, the granite columns that opened onto the dramatic valleys of mankind just below.

  Hylas and Lynne nodded in agreement.

  “Yes,” the angel of oceans said. “Let us light a beacon for all the tribes.”

  The Peak scooped up a common pebble.

  The Stormmother gathered her waters between her palms.

  The Verdant grew a seed from her fingertip.

  Then the three met as one, and they cast the union together to the heights of their shared domain. A gleaming orb like the sun, born of three Wills, to mark the promise they made together.

  “Today we plant the seed that will cradle this world,” prophesized the Verdant. “We hold between us the heart of a star. Let us guard the fate of man.”

  “So we stand!” called the Peak.

  “Together,” agreed Lynne.

  Thus they pledged in the garden three gods built.

  This land, known today as the Bones, where no rivers ran and nothing grew.