15. Story: Root

Once upon a time, before kingdoms, before wars, before even time itself…

There was only light.

It was not a warm light, nor a cold light. It was not a gentle light, nor a harsh light. 

It was simply, light.

So bright, so endless, that nothing else could exist in its presence.

But then—something stirred.

A tree sprouted alone in the emptiness, and from its branch, a single seed dropped.

Where it fell, a flame bloomed. It flickered and spun, dancing in delight.

She called herself Fey.

Fey was Life, and as she twirled in her fiery dress, sparks flew in all directions.

Wherever they landed, things began to grow—soft, strange, beautiful things.

But eventually… There was no more room.

Everywhere had been touched by her fire.

“Is that all?” she asked the tree.

The tree did not answer.
Instead, it dropped another seed.

From it came a breath colder than silence, a mist that stole colour from the world.

It wrapped itself around Fey’s dancing light, and some of her flames flickered out.

She wept—at first.

But then… where fire faded, new sparks emerged.

“You’re… helping me?” she asked.

“I make space for more,” said the mist.

He bowed. 

“I am Solomon. I am Death.”

And so, Life and Death danced.

One made room, the other filled it. It was a quiet rhythm, a perfect balance.

For a time.

But it was lonely.

The tree dropped a third seed. It split in two before it even hit the ground.

One half spun into a warm shape that glowed from within. The other followed close behind, gentle and shy.

Together, they took the hands of Life and Death.

“We are Meiriem,” they said in one voice. “We are Love.”

Love wove between the two, drawing creatures close, letting them share their warmth. And the world became full of bonds.

But bonds tightened and tangled until the world could dance no more.

Fey and Solomon cried out together: "It’s too much!"

So the tree gave one more seed.

This one hit the ground and exploded. It screamed with every step it took. It tore creatures apart, pulled lovers from lovers, scattered friends across the skies.

“I am Scorn,” she snarled. “I am Hate.”

And the dance resumed.

The four quarrelled, they made peace, they circled and chased and pulled at each other, each doing what they did best.

Life. Death. Love. Hate.

Over and over, they spun.

A cycle began. Like water through a wheel.

The tree watched.

Then, a new seed.

It did not walk. It rolled. It bounced. It cackled.

It tipped Fey into Solomon, flung Meiriem into Scorn, and spun the world on its head.

“I am Diid,” it cheered. “I am Chaos!”

Too much. Too fast.

Nothing could stand. Nothing could breathe.

So the tree gave one last seed.

A stillness. A voice like wind through leaves. She stepped forward and gathered the pieces.

“I am Seeir. I bring Order.”

She held Chaos in her hands. Not to crush it—but to guide it.

And at last… time began.

The tree, whose name was Alcorn, saw its work take root.

From its leaves, new gods were born. Leaves shaped by a pair of other gods before blooming—imbued with intent, meaning, and fragments of their parents' essence. Countless leaves and countless gods. Every god brings a new movement to the dance.

And, eventually, from the gods, their kin.

These kin were called mann.
They built. They tilled. They sang. They mourned. They dreamed.

The gods gave them gifts and taught them stories.

But not all stories are happy ones.

The gods began to argue.

They made weapons. They made armies. They made war.

The First War.

It tore through the skies. It cracked the branches of Alcorn. Gods fell. Mann fell. Whole worlds blinked out.

The six eldest gods returned to the tree, what was left of it.

They decided to cast their fate on a dice roll to decide who amongst them would leave the world to bring peace.

But the dice did not choose. It landed on its edge.

None of them were chosen.

They looked at one another. And then looked up.

It was Alcorn.

The tree—who had always given—gave once more.

It withered, and with it, the immaterial plane collapsed.

The gods and mann fell to the earth.

The gods lost their divine shape. Their absolute power. Their omniscience. But they remembered.

And as both gods and mann wept, Alcorn gave one final gift:

Evergreen.

A new tree, grown from its root. A place where gods and kin could speak again.

But it came with a rule: A god who forgets their kin is no god at all.

And so, the gods scattered. Some stayed close. Others let mann walk their path.

But not all could let go.

Some, like Seeir, built cities and thrones.
Whispered into mortal ears.

The churches grew. Some with their gods. Some without.

And while the gods may still walk among us…

They are not all-powerful.

They do not always agree, and maybe they never did. 

Perhaps the dance of the gods was never meant to be peaceful. 

Their beauty exists only in the eyes of mortals.