There was Darkness before dawn, and shining stars. The gods writhed and woke, in the endless emptiness, and as they stirred and stretched, the world emerged around them, from their natures, from their needs. Earth and stone grew beneath them, grass and trees spreading swiftly o’er it like a verdant blanket, whitefoamed waters spilling speedily into the deeper dells. And they looked about, beneath the stars, and saw that what was made conformed to their thoughts, their very beings, and so they deemed it good.

First to wake were Nhal and Harukan: Earth and Sky. Waking scant seconds later were Dweor and Meilu, Stone and Soil. Third to wake, but a breath later, were Aurellion and Taliana, the Wild and the Wood. And they saw, each the others, under starlight, before ever the sun rose. And those were the Eldest of the gods, and the gods of the Elder races, (the elves, dwarves and hobgoblins) and before the rise of Sun and Moon, under starlit sky, they crafted those races, each in their own likeness, and to their own liking. Starlight was all the Elder Peoples ever needed, for their eyes were open before the rise of Moon and Sun.

Next to wake, alone, was Eclat, Brilliance. From their thought rose the limitless legions of ardent angels to sing prayers of praise and ease their loneliness. And from their solitary thought began to rise ideas of rules, and roles, and wrong, and right. But these were not yet spoken….and that would be an ill thing ere too much more time passed.

The Eldest clove, each to their other, their partner, each paired, while Eclat sat and sang alone, and round them soared their singing servants. And so then were born the Second gods, children of the Eldest, and first of them was Khul. And time passed, and Khul grew to manhood, and brothers were born, and others were born, and all gods gathered in their groups, and families formed.

Youngest and fairest of all those gods born before Sun shone and moon made way cross starlit sky, was Lauralethea, she of snakes and spiders, wisdom and weaving, healing and hope. Through dappled dales of green and silver she strode, far from family, in the elder time’s eternal night. Around her, behind her, trailed throngs of her creatures, sharing in her beauty and her kindness, for in the time before the Sun, there was yet no venom or hatred between those who walked on many legs, or none, and those who walked on two.

Eldest of the Youngest, strongest of the Secondborn, Khul stalked the same wilderness, by choice and chance, the silver swards and great greenwoods of the wider world. Keen yellow eyes, cat-slit, peered and pierced the shimmering shadows, finding, finally, the fairest fey. It was in that dreadful, marvelous moment, when all could have been gained, that all was lost. For Khul’s heart left him, and flew to her, and there abided ever after.

Sky’s son standing, starstruck, silent, staring. The fragrant fruit of her father’s eye, the fairest maiden saw him so. Broad shouldered, strong of jaw, sharp of ear, the firstborn child of earth was as handsome in his rough hewn way as she was beautiful. Their eyes met, their souls met, and her heart left her, and flew to him, and there abided ever after.

She fled, laughing, long lithe legs loping through the starlit sylvan swards, and Khul, ever the hunter, hungry, gave chase. Long did the lovers run, ever pursued, ever pursuing, for the joy of the chase and the songs in their blood.

Elsewhere, elsewise, elder gods argued. To set the way of things, they spoke, each to their desires, and from their views. Aurellion argued that first and foremost, their children should be loved...and Harukan acquiesced. Meilu put forth that they should have purpose, and work all the days of their lives...and Harukan acquiesced. Taliana objected, saying, “These children we make, why should they work? Why should they toil? Why should they scrabble for food from the soil? We make all things, can we not make, a world that gives, and does not take?” To this, Meilu listened, and softened her heart. And Aurellion nodded, and said, “We should give to them all that they desire, and give to them paradise.” Dior looked doubtful, but nodded still, and Eclat agreed as well, and all the twinkling stars sang softly in the night. It was not Harukan who spoke, then, their misgivings, but Nhal, first of all things, the Earth herself.

“If to our children we give all they desire, what need will they have to grow? To change? Did we make them merely always to exist? Without strife and toil, they will be weak, and dependent upon us. Shall we wait on them ever, hand and foot? Do you think truly we are the only such world in all that empty night?” She gestured to the endless sky, beyond her husband’s warm embrace. “Other places, there are, and they will look on our children as prey if we do this thing.” For hers was always the deepest sight.

Harukan spoke, his voice a rumble of thunder, and the howl of the wind. “She speaks truth beyond your ken. There are things in the cold beyond my arms, and they will not always remain there. Our children must know toil, and strife, and trouble...and they will value their lives all the more thereby, and be prepared for what may come.” There was iron in his speech.

Aurellion scoffed. “You make up tales of places beyond. There is only here, only us.” For he could not see beyond Harukan’s veil, the warding sky. “And if other things *did* come, we would defeat them.”

Harukan raised a shaggy brow. “There are things beyond us, brother.”

Aurellion scoffed again. He could not see. They could not see. And so the other Elder gods agreed, Aurellion and Taliana, Meilu and Dweor (though Dweor had his doubts), and Eclat, bright and shining. Only Nhal and Harukan stood separate, stern.

Then it was that they began to speak of the world, and parceling out its pieces to their children. And the elves were given the sweet forest glades, and the dwarves the cool mountain caves, and places were set aside for younger children yet to come...but to Harukan and Nhal was said, “If hardship you seek for your children, then hardship they will have. They will be given only what others do not want: the wastes, the broken lands.” And Harukan furrowed his brow, but spake not.

It came to pass that time was set aside to consider, before the way of things was set. And in that time, Feandil the trickster, son of Aurellion, came to his father, and spake, “He will not give way, father. The sovereign of the sky will not acquiesce. He will do as he will do, and bring hardship and harm to all our children, whatever we might say.”

Aurellion mused. “And so? What say you we should do, my son? How solve we this dread dilemma?”

And Feandil spoke. “Death. He cannot harm our children if he lives no more.”

And Aurellion nodded.

And so it was that Aurellion spake of this matter to Dweor, and to Eclat, and his silver tongue swayed them, and they agreed a thing that should never have been thought, much less done...they would slay the Sky.

And Harukan was called to council with his brothers, thinking some compromise could be reached. But Feandil’s ill counsel had been heard, and once Harukan was alone with them, they struck. Aurellion with his bow and antlers, Dior with both hammer and axe, Eclat with the brilliant fire that had not yet been seen. And Harukan died, though he left scars forever on all his foes...not on their flesh, but on their souls, for he raised no hand against them. “You will regret.” Is all he said. Afraid, they strove to hide their deed, placing his cooling corpse around the world to build a wall...in case somehow he was right. And Eclat took his eyes, and kindled them, though they did not yet release them, to be lights and wards against the outer dark, in ages to come...for now they felt misgiving. And other things were done with his various parts, as shall be seen.

It was then that Lauralethia ran, laughing, all unknowing, to her father’s side, as he rested from the battle, and the labor of dismembering the Sky. Behind her, in the distance, ran Khul, relentless.

To her father, the Fairest said, “I am pursued,” and laughed. Coyly, over shoulder, her eyes lidded, at Khul she looked. Aurellion stood, dismayed. He did not understand. He did not understand. All he saw was Khul, oncoming, unwavering. Aurellion’s heart was filled with guilt, and all he saw approaching was vengeance.

Lauralethia said, “I love him, father. I would have him, and he me.” But Aurellion did not hear. He did not hear.

Then Feandil spake, and said, quietly, in his liege’s other ear, “He must be put in his place. Such a creature cannot have the fairest of us, and must be weakened, that he may not take vengeance for his father.” This, Aurellion heard, but he did not understand. He did not understand. Feandil had wanted Lauralethia since their eyes opened, but she would have none of him, for she felt his heart.

Aurellion moved swiftly, battle fury rising. As one of the Eldest, he outmatched Khul in all ways. It was over almost without a struggle.. No one ever saw whether it was Aurellion’s arrows or his antlers...but he took Khul’s eyes. He hefted Khul’s body, and flung him far, to the Western Wastes. All the while, Lauralethia was screaming. But Aurellion did not hear. He did not hear.

At the end, there was silence. Nhal saw all that had been done. She saw her blinded son thrown away like trash. She saw, now, the signs, her husband's death at Aurellion’s hands. She took her family and followed her son, before her enemies turned their gaze to her.

As Lauralethia wept, she wandered, following Nhal as best she could...but Nhal and her children would not have her. They would not listen. They would not listen. And so, Lauralethia took with her her own people, and found another place, and from that time her creatures, the spiders and the snakes, would be enemies to the children of the other gods, venomous and filled with Lauralethia’s well earned spite. And her father could only let her go, weeping for his own deeds.

It came to pass that Harukan’s eyes were placed, as sun and moon, to guard the world and watch it. Eclat had kindled them with fire, and with Harukan’s fierce love of his family. But the children of Harukan, and the children of Lauralethia, would hate and resent these orbs forever more.

Khul swore vengeance, indeed. But that is another tale.