The battle had raged for forty days and forty nights, yet neither Light nor Darkness had claimed dominion. The skies were blackened with burning constellations, and the seas boiled with the blood of gods and mortals alike.
At the heart of the chaos stood Eryndral, once a city of crystalline beauty, now a furnace of war. Its towers shattered, its rivers scarred with fire, and yet within its ruins pulsed the Shard of the First Breath, radiant and untamed.
The Breaking of Kings
Vaelor the Broken, Abyssal Lord, stood atop a ruined spire. His flesh was no longer flesh but a writhing tapestry of shadows, abyssal worms weaving in and out of his body. His voice cracked the air:
"Spirits, mortals, giants—kneel. I am no longer man nor god. I am the Abyss given shape!"
The corrupted rallied, their chants twisting into black hymns. Rivers of shadow surged through the streets.
But Kaelith, scarred yet unyielding, raised his Stardust-forged spear, rallying what remained of mortals and giants. Beside him, Serenya etched runes midair, her blood dripping into the symbols, forcing reality itself to bend.
"We are not gods,"
she cried, voice trembling yet fierce.
"But we are chosen to live. To fight. And we will not bow."
The Spirits Descend
One by one, the Great Spirits manifested in their true majesty upon the battlefield.
Lumiaris descended as a sun given flesh, its spears igniting oceans into pillars of flame.
Umbryth coiled around the city like a living eclipse, cloaking half of existence in void.
Chronalis stretched time itself, causing armies to move as if drowning in honey, while allies moved swift as lightning.
Oblivara sang a single note, and whole legions of corrupted fell silent forever.
The battlefield shook under their power. Yet even together, the Spirits could not strike decisively—each bound by balance, each unwilling to shatter creation itself in their struggle.
The Collapse of Eryndral
The Shard's radiance grew unstable. With every clash of divine power, its light pulsed brighter, threatening to fracture the very foundations of the world.
Serenya's runes warned of disaster.
Lyrielle, lost in trance, screamed prophecies of annihilation.
"If the shard shatters here, the First Breath will return to formlessness! The world will drown in uncreation!"
Yet Vaelor sought exactly this. If the shard broke, the Abyss would devour all, remaking the cosmos in his image.
Kaelith knew only one choice remained: the shard had to be sealed, not wielded.
The First Seal
Together, Kaelith, Serenya, Lyrielle, and Gorath the giant forged an act no mortal had attempted: the first Seal of Unity. Serenya's runes, Gorath's Stardust hammer, Lyrielle's prophetic voice, and Kaelith's spear united, drawing upon the wills of every surviving mortal.
The seal took form—a great crystalline prison, binding the shard in layers of existence itself.
But the seal required a price.
A sacrifice.
The Fall of Kaelith
Kaelith stepped forward, placing his own life force into the seal. His body burned with the shard's radiance, his mortal frame unraveling into starlight. Serenya screamed his name, reaching for him, but he only smiled:
"Let mortals endure… let us prove worthy of creation."
With a final thrust, he drove his spear into the shard, binding it within the crystal prison. The city of Eryndral collapsed into a crater of light, sealed away from both Spirits and Abyss alike.
When the light faded, Kaelith was gone.
The Aftermath
The corrupted legions fell silent without their lord. Vaelor's body was dragged into the Abyss, sealed by Oblivara's song—but his laughter echoed still, a promise of return.
The Spirits withdrew, weakened and shaken. None had foreseen mortals taking destiny into their own hands.
Serenya wept among the ruins, clutching the broken spear. Lyrielle whispered prophecies of Kaelith's return across ages, and Gorath swore an oath to guard the sealed shard until the end of time.
Thus ended the First Divine War, not with triumph, but with loss and scars that would shape eternity.
Primovast's Judgment
High above, in the silence of stars, Primovast opened its galaxy-black eyes.
The First Dragon had watched as mortals sealed what even Spirits could not. It had witnessed their defiance, their sacrifice, their imperfection.
And it spoke, its voice echoing through all dimensions
"So it begins. Mortals have chosen. From their flaws shall rise legends, and from their legends, eternity shall grow. This… is the First Cycle."
With that, the dragon turned, folding its wings into the boundless void.
The war was over. But the Age of Legends had only just begun.