INTRODUCTION
“Light, though fair and pure, holds a treacherous nature, for it burns brightest in the hands of those who seek to wield it. Yet beware, for the very glow that guides may also consume, its brilliance turning to hunger, devouring until naught remains but shadow. To weave light is to tread a path edged with darkness, where one misstep may see the weaver lost to the night. Use this gift with care, lest you find yourself undone by the radiance you sought to command."
Eldryn the Veilstalker, 3,712 of the First Age
I am Emberweave, last of the old mages, one who once spun the threads of the cosmos into the very fabric of our world. My hands, though gnarled and withered by the relentless march of time, still recall the way light bends—how it whispers to those who dare to listen. Yet, let it be known: these words I write are no gift. They are a warning, a guide for those reckless enough to think themselves worthy of light’s embrace. For light is not merely a blessing, but a burden, a curse to those who wield it without wisdom.
The art of lightweaving has long faded into obscurity, drowned beneath the foolish prattle of illusionists and charlatans who peddle tricks to the simple-minded. What was once a force that could move mountains and shape reality has been reduced to petty sparks and spectacles. True magic, the kind that pulses with the heartbeat of the universe, lies beyond their grasp—woven in hues and shades unseen by their feeble eyes.
And so, I pen this tome, not for the curious, nor the foolhardy. It is for those few who hear the ancient murmur of light, who feel the pull of its timeless song. Those who would call themselves its masters must first learn to be its servants, for light is not tamed by arrogance. This book is no instruction manual—it is a reminder of what lies dormant within you. We are born with the embers of stars in our veins, yet few possess the discipline to fan those flames.
You are no god, no sculptor of the cosmos. You are but a vessel, and your role is to channel, to shape, and above all, to respect the light. Bend it to your will, yes, but always remember this: light does not forgive those who seek to control it without reverence. Take heed, for the path is as perilous as it is wondrous, and the line between brilliance and oblivion is finer than you know.
“Light comes to those who know where to look, who know how to see beyond the common veil. Each color, each hue, each flicker of luminescence carries its own soul. They are the whispers of creation itself—red for the pulse of the earth, blue for the breath of the sky, green for the songs of the wild. But the most potent, the most sacred, are those that lie between, in the unseen spaces where color and power collide.”
Sternum Victus 391 of the First Age
I have walked the shadowed paths that lie between realms, places where light is neither seen nor known, but felt in the marrow. I have learned the names of colors that no mortal eyes will ever perceive. Now, I put these truths to parchment—not as a boon, not to bestow power upon the unworthy, but as a map for those who would dare tread the same treacherous ground. This is no journey to mere mastery; it is a pilgrimage toward understanding—an understanding that each beam, each sliver of radiance that pierces the veil between worlds, harbors a truth that begs to be uncovered.
But let my words serve as a warning. Light, though it may appear gentle, is a ruthless tutor. Each ray carries a weight, a consequence—every shimmer demands its due. You cannot draw from the sun without searing your flesh, nor can you summon the chill of twilight’s glow without feeling it gnaw at your bones. Each magic carries its burden, and it is that burden I intend to prepare you for, whether you are ready or not.
This tome will be your lantern in the dark, guiding you through the unlit corridors of the unseen spectrum. It will show you how to call forth the hidden hues, how to bend the beams to your will, how to draw the glow of distant stars into your grasp and let their radiance pulse through your veins. But do not mistake this for an easy path. The road to true mastery is long and fraught with trials that will test your spirit.
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Yet, for those who endure, for those who seek knowledge over dominion, the rewards are boundless. You will not merely wield light; you will embody it, becoming a living prism through which the very forces of creation flow. That is why I write these words—to preserve what has slipped through time’s grasp, to remind those who come after me that light is life, that color is power, and that magic—true magic—is the unbroken thread that binds all things, seen and unseen.
“Do not chase the light. Become still, and let it find you.”
Mother, 4,166 of the First Age
Take these words to heart, and let them guide your journey. Know this well: the light is not yours to command, but to revere. As you read, as you practice, as your understanding deepens, remember always that magic is no mere instrument, but a companion—one that demands respect and patience. It is in your bond with the light that you may glimpse its deeper truths, the whispers of creation that linger beyond mortal reach.
“I, Emberwave, am but its scribe, a humble voice echoing the ancient song that came before me.”
Emberweave, 112 of the Second Age
THE CREATION STORY
Who has not heard this, a child knows this before walking, but for fullness I will include a brief summary for those, who may be from afar.
In the time before time, when no star shone and no breath stirred, there existed only two—Baletreen, the Light, whose radiance knew no bounds, and Mildreen, the Darkness, whose calm held all within its embrace. For eons uncounted, they existed in a perfect balance, their forms entwined beyond the reach of time. Baletreen’s light flowed like an endless river, but it was contained, held within Mildreen’s infinite shadows, creating a stillness that knew no change.
Yet, within the depths of Mildreen’s darkness, a change began to stir—a longing for something beyond the silence. She whispered to Baletreen, a plea to create something new, something that could break the quiet, if only for a moment. Baletreen, with the warmth of a father’s pride, agreed. He released a part of his limitless light, letting it flow outwards, a beam that pierced the darkness and spread like a flood through the void.
In that moment, the stillness shattered. The light spilled into every crevice of the darkness, illuminating realms that had never known a glow, and from their mingling, the universe was born. Stars ignited in the void, casting their radiance across the fabric of reality. Worlds took shape, spinning amidst the sea of stars, each one holding within it a fragment of Baletreen’s light—a shard of the power that had sparked creation itself.
Yet, as the light spread, Mildreen felt a deep ache within her being, a loss of the stillness she had cherished for eons. She recoiled, trying to gather the darkness back to herself, seeking to wrap the universe in her quiet embrace once more. But the light had already taken root, and Baletreen, now weakened by the release of his power, could not recall it. And so, the first conflict began, a battle between light and dark, each struggling for dominance in the newly born universe.
Baletreen’s light sought to survive, to spread and thrive, bringing warmth and life to the worlds that now turned beneath the stars. He watched as his light grew in the hearts of beings that emerged from the dust, living, breathing reflections of his essence, each with a glimmer of his power within them. They built and dreamed, their eyes turned to the stars, drawn by the endless possibilities that light offered. Through them, Baletreen saw the potential of creation—the chance for the universe to become more than what it had been.
Mildreen, however, yearned for the return of the stillness she had lost. Her darkness reached out like tendrils, seeking to draw the light back into her grasp, to unmake the worlds that shone in defiance of her calm. Where Baletreen’s light nurtured life, Mildreen’s shadows whispered of endings, of a return to the quiet that had existed before time. Her darkness swirled at the edges of the cosmos, consuming stars, drawing them into her embrace, trying to still their light forever.
Yet, even as the darkness sought to reclaim what had been lost, Baletreen’s light endured. It found refuge in the hidden places—within the hearts of the living, within the fire that burned in the coldest night, within the hope that carried through the endless dark. Every beam of light that fell upon a world, every star that resisted the shadow, carried a fragment of Baletreen’s will, a promise that the light would not be snuffed out.
"And so, the universe became a battleground, a dance between light and dark, each seeking to shape existence in its image. Baletreen’s light fought for survival, to kindle hope and warmth in the cold void. Mildreen’s darkness sought to reclaim the stillness, to draw all back into her embrace, where no star would shine and no life would stir. They could not destroy one another, for their essence was bound by the moment of creation—each needed the other, even as they struggled against their opposing natures.
To this day, the battle between light and dark continues, written in the patterns of stars and shadows, in the cycles of day and night. Baletreen’s light remains within all things, a spark of the original radiance that brought the universe into being. It is the breath of life, the warmth that melts the frost, the fire that burns against the night. It is this light, with power of Baletreen a mage borrows to weave their fantastical creations.