The following chronology is drawn from the illuminated records preserved within the Sanctum of Ormaz, in the holy city of Solanith, the capital of the realm of Solamir. The priest-scholars of Ormaz have long been revered for their devotion to truth and the preservation of divine history. Though Solanith stands as the radiant heart of the Bright Court’s dominion, the Ormazite chroniclers hold themselves apart from worldly ambition, believing that truth is the purest reflection of the Eternal Light. Their task is sacred — to record the deeds of gods and mortals alike, unclouded by pride or fear.

 

While the archivists of Ormaz strive for absolute accuracy, they are not without their detractors. Scribes from Atlaren and the distant courts of Meltarra accuse Solamiri histories of bias, claiming they exalt the Bright Eternals while diminishing the deeds of others. In turn, Solamir’s scholars regard foreign accounts as clouded by heresy, ignorance, or the taint of the Forsaken. Yet the Ormazite creed holds that all truth, however imperfect, deserves a place within the Great Record — for only by weighing all voices can one glimpse the design of the divine.

 

Disclaimer:
The following material is provided to enrich your understanding of Athera’s history. While these chronicles offer valuable context, most characters in-game would know only fragments or legends derived from such accounts. Allow your character to learn, question, and discover these truths naturally through roleplay.

ANCIENT PAST

The First Silence

Before all things there was the Void - vast, unbounded, and still. No light, no sound, no motion; only the endless hush of nothing becoming nothing. From that stillness awoke Anu, the Spark - the first motion, the impulse to exist - and beside him stirred Nara, the Womb - the first form, the vessel that gives shape to being. They were the first duality, the pulse and the pause, motion seeking form and form embracing motion. Together, Anu and Nara broke the eternal quiet. Their joining was the first act of creation, and from it were born the three great realms of existence. Empyra, the realm of light and potential above, where thought first took flame. Netherum, the deep furnace below, where unshaped essence returned to stillness. Between them, Kai'lar, the World of Order - the perfect design, where form and motion were bound in flawless harmony. In that moment all was complete, and the first silence ended - not with chaos, but with perfect symmetry. Yet within that still perfection slept the seed of its undoing, for where nothing changes, nothing truly lives.

The Stillness

From the perfect union of Anu and Nara came their firstborn thoughts - the Eternals, spirits of divine purpose, each embodying one truth of creation. To some was given the shaping of light, to others the deep places, to others still the keeping of memory, the song of wind, or the forge of flame. They were countless, yet together formed a single harmony: a choir without discord, the design of Anu and Nara made living. Upon the still face of Kai'lar, the World of Order, the Eternals set their hands. They raised mountains and seas, kindled stars, and laid the paths of the heavens. Every motion had its measure, every form its meaning; nothing rose or fell beyond the will of the divine. It was a paradise of pattern - flawless, unchanging, eternal.

 

In those days there was no death, nor birth, nor even time, for all things simply were. The stars burned without dimming, the seas without tide, and the mountains without decay. So perfect was the balance that even the Eternals feared to speak too loudly, lest the sound disturb the stillness. Thus this period of time is known as the Stillness, when all creation stood in unbroken accord. But beneath that quiet perfection stirred unease, for what never changes cannot grow - and what cannot grow, cannot live.

The Rebellion of Mortael

Among the Eternals there was one whose fire burned more fiercely than the rest. He was Mortael, the Keeper of the Flame - born from Anu’s own spark, yet shadowed by the silence of Nara's design. He gazed upon Kai'lar and saw a flawless world without motion, without change, without purpose. In its perfect stillness he found not beauty, but imprisonment. To Mortael, the world's harmony was a lie - a reflection without life. He spoke of movement, of growth, of the beauty that dwells in imperfection. But Lirieth, the Eternal of Order and Law, rebuked him, saying that change was the seed of ruin and that the purpose of the divine was to preserve, not to alter.

Thus the first discord entered the heavens, a single note of defiance in the endless song of creation. Mortael's words found echo in others: Darketh, who hungered for shadow in a world of light, and Belial, whose heart longed for passion unbound by law. Together they whispered of freedom, of a cosmos unchained from design - of life, not existence. Their defiance grew in secret, a flame beneath the surface of the world, until even Empyra trembled with its heat. In that moment, the first breath of chaos stirred - unseen, unspoken, but inevitable. And though Anu and Nara turned their gaze upon their children, the pattern had already begun to unravel. For once the idea of change is born, it cannot be unmade.

The First Creations

In the wake of Mortael's defiance, the Eternals turned their craft against one another. Where once they had shaped the world in unity, they now sought to prove whose vision of existence was true. Lirieth, striving to preserve the perfection of Kai'lar, gathered to her the Eternals of the Bright Court. Together they shaped the first mortal forms - beings of grace and stillness, untouched by decay. Thus were born the Elves, wrought in her image: radiant, deathless, and bound to the eternal harmony of the world. They were meant to be living testaments to divine order - beauty without change, life without end.

 

To Mortael and his kin, this was blasphemy. For what is life without growth, or beauty without passing? In the deep forges of Netherum, he and his allies - Darketh, the Veiled Shadow, and Belial, the Lord of Wrath - kindled a counter-creation. From flame and shadow they shaped the Orcs, fierce and impermanent, creatures of will and hunger, destined to change and die and rise again. They were the first beings to know desire - and through it, the first to suffer.

 

Outraged by this corruption of divine art, the Bright Court sought to preserve the fragile balance. From clay and breath they forged a third race - not eternal, nor accursed, but balanced between the two. Thus came Men, shaped from the breath of Kai'lar itself: flawed, fleeting, yet filled with choice. Among them were the Everonians, noble and steadfast, who stood beside the Elves against the shadow to come.

 

From the clash of divine hands were born yet other wonders and terrors. The Dragons, who burned with Anu's untamed fire. The Dwarves, who built and remembered in Nara's deep patience. The Giants, who bore the weight of the mountains. And lesser spawn - Trolls, Goblins, and things unnamed - who crawled from the wreckage of divine thought. Thus life entered Kai'lar, and for the first time the still world began to move. But in that movement lay the end of its perfection - for every act of creation now carried its shadow, and every gift bore its cost.

The Sundering of Harmony

The shaping of life became the first act of war. What began as rivalry among gods turned to ruin among stars, for the creations of the Bright and Forsaken Courts could not dwell together in peace. The Elves, bound to stillness, sought to preserve all that was eternal.
The Orcs, born of flame and change, sought to unmake what would not yield. Between them, Men fought and bled, their hearts divided between order and freedom. The war of the Eternals spilled across every plane.
Empyra blazed with broken constellations; the mountains of Kai'lar split and screamed; even Netherum shuddered in its depths.
Rivers boiled, suns dimmed, and for the first time, silence died.

 

Many of the divine were destroyed, their essences scattered into the firmament - some becoming the stars themselves, others falling to earth as spirits. The world that had once been perfect now bled from every wound. At last the Bright Court, led by Lirieth, met the Forsaken host beneath the blackened sky. There, in the heart of the world’s stillness, she faced Mortael, her brother in eternity and her opposite in truth. Their struggle shattered the heavens. With her final breath, Lirieth called upon the laws of creation to bind him -
but Mortael's flame could not be bound.

He struck her down, and as her light died, the World of Order was torn open. From her sundered essence poured chaos unshaped -motion without form, life without law. The wound it left behind would never close. Thus was born the Abyss, the counter-realm to Kai'lar, a chasm where order and chaos devour one another without end. From that moment, perfection was lost forever. Time began its slow march, and with it came decay - not merely the dying of flesh, but the fading of all things. Even the undying felt its touch, and the first sorrow entered creation. The song of the cosmos, once one voice, had broken into a thousand discordant notes -
and nothing, not even the gods, would ever be untouched by ending again.

The Judgement of Vorundex

When the light of Lirieth was extinguished and the Abyss yawned wide, the Eternals fell silent. Even Mortael, who had kindled the war, beheld what his fire had wrought and trembled - for the wound he had opened could not be undone, and its echo devoured the song of creation itself. Empyra burned. Kai'lar groaned beneath ruin. Netherum's forges dimmed. In the void between them, the harmony of Anu and Nara hung broken - a perfect design now split by the flaw of choice.

 

Then, from the still heart of all things, something stirred that was neither light nor shadow. It was not born of Anu’s spark nor of Nara’s form, but of the law between them - the inevitable balance that follows every act. Thus came Vorundex, the Judge Apart, whose eyes see both the flame and the void. He carried no sword, no voice, no banner - only the unyielding weight of consequence.
Where his gaze fell, even gods grew still. He looked upon the shattered heavens and measured the sum of all creation's debt. No plea could sway him, no power silence him, for he was the truth that even the divine must obey. When his judgement was pronounced, it was not heard but known. The Eternals who had kept faith - those who had sought to preserve harmony - were restored to Empyra, though their light was dimmed by sorrow.

The rebels - Mortael, Darketh, and Belial - were cast down into the fires they had once tended. There, beneath the wounded world, Netherum was remade - no longer the forge of renewal, but the prison of the Forsaken. Their flames, once creative, now devoured only themselves. Their whispers rose from the deep, twisting through the cracks of the Abyss, calling to all who would listen.

Vorundex then sealed the wound between realms with the weight of his decree. He established the Silent Court, where every soul - divine or mortal - would one day stand in judgement. From that moment, justice became the last law of creation. When his work was done, Vorundex withdrew into stillness, leaving the world changed and the gods divided. Anu and Nara wept, for their perfect design had perished - yet from its ruin something greater had been born. For now there was motion, and meaning, and mortality.

 

Thus ended the War of the Eternals, and the Age of Stillness gave way to the Dawn of Time. The gods took their thrones, the Abyss churned beneath the world, and Kai'lar began to breathe - alive at last, but forever scarred by the judgement that saved it.

Dawn of Time

When the silence of judgement faded, the heavens lay divided and the world lay remade. The light of Empyra shone dimly now, fractured by sorrow. Netherum smoldered in exile, its fires gnawing through the deep. Between them, Kai'lar turned slowly beneath the newborn sun - no longer still, but alive.

 

The breath of Anu stirred the seas; the tears of Nara became rivers that wound through the scars of battle. Mountains rose where divine blood had fallen, and forests spread over the graves of gods. Where the Abyss had torn through the world, its echoes hardened into shadowed valleys and deep chasms - reminders of the wound that would never heal. Upon this changed earth walked the first children of the divine. The Elves, shaped in Lirieth's image, mourned her passing and vowed to preserve what perfection remained. The Orcs, children of Mortael’s fire, raged and rejoiced, for the world now burned as they had been born to burn. And Men, the youngest and most fragile of all, opened their eyes to a sky both bright and broken - and found within it wonder. To them fell the burden and the gift of choice, for in their hands lay the balance that even the gods had lost.

 

The Eternals withdrew from Kai'lar, each to their realm. The Bright Court rebuilt its dominions in Empyra; the Forsaken brooded in the darkness of Netherum; and Vorundex, unmoved, watched from his Silent Court between worlds. Anu and Nara, grieving, turned their gaze from their creation and fell into slumber - for even the makers of gods may know sorrow.

 

Time began its slow procession, measuring all things. The stars took their courses, the tides their rhythm, and the heartbeat of the world began - steady, imperfect, eternal. So dawned the Age of Time, when the deeds of mortals would write the next verses of creation's song.

Age of Time

Circa 1240 BA

In the decades after Rein's founding, the authority of the crown was far from secure. King Edward Perius and his heirs struggled to enforce their rule beyond the royal city, where distant barons kept their own militias and clung to ancient rights. Rival houses quarreled openly, raising private banners and fortifying their halls. Though Rein stood as a kingdom in name, in truth it remained a patchwork of semi-independent lords, its unity bound more by loyalty to the dynasty than by law.

Circa 1220 BA

As Rein's fertile plains and river valleys were soon divided among the strongest families, ambitious nobles and younger sons found themselves without land to inherit. Resentment brewed, and talk spread of unclaimed country beyond the Iron Shoulder Mountains. Scouts and merchants carried back tales of rich forests and broad valleys to the northeast. Drawn by promises of new wealth and the chance to carve out lordships of their own, the dispossessed began pushing into the high passes, marking the first deliberate Reinic expansion beyond its borders.

Circa 1200 BA

What began as scattered expeditions soon took on the weight of permanence. A coalition of landless Reinic nobles, led by Roland Salis, crossed the Iron Shoulders and staked their claims in the fertile lands beyond. From their foothold settlements grew the Meltarran Kingdom, with Salis crowned as its first king. Unlike Rein, which had grown from tribal confederacies, Meltarra was built deliberately as a feudal state, its baronies and shires granted to those who had followed Salis into exile. This act created not only a new kingdom, but a lasting divide between Reinic and Meltarran culture.

Circa 1220 BA

The crown's attempts to reward loyal families with land grants quickly reached their limits, as Rein's fertile lowlands were already divided among the strongest houses. Younger sons and landless knights pressed their claims in vain, and resentment spread. Many of these dispossessed nobles began to look north to the Iron Shoulder Mountains, hoping that the unexplored valleys beyond might offer the wealth and status denied them at home. Expeditions set out to chart the forests on the far side, unknowingly setting the stage for the founding of Meltarra.

Circa 1175 BA

Barely a generation after its founding, Meltarra was torn apart by rebellion. Earl Markus Dane, one of King Salis' most trusted liegemen, gathered his vassals in the south and declared himself king. Southern Meltarra followed him, and for nearly twenty-five years civil war raged. Known as the Meltarran Conflict, the struggle drained both crowns, with towns burned, fortresses besieged, and whole provinces left in ruin. Only with the death of King Dane from illness did the rebellion collapse. His vassals bent the knee to Roland Salis once more, reuniting Meltarra under its founder's rule and bringing the kingdom into a fragile peace.

Golden Age

Circa 1140 BA

Rein and Meltarra expanded their maritime reach during this time, though along very different routes. Rein's ships sailed south into the Outer Sea, building hardy ocean-going vessels capable of braving the storms around Morra's southern horn. From there they could reach Meltarra's eastern ports and establish the first steady lines of foreign trade. Meltarra, by contrast, prospered on two coasts at once: its Outer Sea harbors near Crenshire linked it to Rein and distant waters, while its western ports on the sheltered Sea of Iveen became hubs of inland trade. The dual position of Meltarra made it the wealthiest kingdom of the age.

1100 BA

A century after the founding of Rein, the monarchy sought to curb noble infighting. Royal scribes compiled the Codex of Perius, gathering the ancient decrees of King Edward Perius alongside customary law. It became the first formal body of law in the kingdom. Enforcement remained uneven, but the Codex strengthened the crown’s claim to legitimacy and gave rise to learned magisters, early interpreters of the law who advised courts and noble houses.

1050 BA

Both Rein and Meltarra invested heavily in new infrastructure during this period, seeking to bind their growing realms together. In Rein, paved highways were laid from the royal city southward to the coast, linking its ports on the Outer Sea and allowing caravans to move more quickly inland. Meltarra, meanwhile, built its own system of stone roads radiating from Crenshire. These roads halved travel times and secured safer movement for armies, merchants, and pilgrims. Inns, tollgates, and waystations sprang up along the routes, and with them a new culture of wandering minstrels and storytellers who carried songs and news between the kingdoms.

950 BA

Reinic captains, hardened by the open waters of the Outer Sea, began to push farther afield. They told of strange islands glimpsed in the fog and of towering waves that seemed to rise from nowhere. Meltarran ships, better sheltered, kept to the east and south, building reliable circuits of trade. Tales of lands beyond Morra became common in both ports, seeding the legends of distant peoples across the ocean.

900 BA

Though separated by mountains and long sea-routes, Rein and Meltarra sought moments of fellowship. Great fairs were held in Port Redwater and Crenshire, alternating years, drawing merchants and nobles alike. For common folk, these festivals were a wonder of foreign wares, new songs, and exotic foods; for nobles, they provided an excuse for diplomacy, intrigue, and arranged marriages.

820 BA

As prosperity deepened, guilds emerged as powerful institutions. In Rein, the Merchants' Guild of Port Redwater gained the wealth to challenge noble monopolies on trade. In Meltarra, the Shipwrights' Guild and the Foresters' Guild became kingmakers in their own right, wielding economic clout to rival landed lords. Kings were forced to walk carefully, balancing their courts between feudal barons and the new guildmasters who controlled ships, timber, and coin.

820 BA

As prosperity deepened, guilds emerged as powerful institutions. In Rein, the Merchants' Guild of Port Redwater gained the wealth to challenge noble monopolies on trade. In Meltarra, the Shipwrights' Guild and the Foresters' Guild became kingmakers in their own right, wielding economic clout to rival landed lords. Kings were forced to walk carefully, balancing their courts between feudal barons and the new guildmasters who controlled ships, timber, and coin.