Aejeon
In the first breath of creation, when Te Vevutur shaped the Five from nothing, Aejeon's flame burned brightest—a star given will and purpose.
Part One: Emergence from the Primordial Fire
The Age Before Fire
Before Aejeon's emergence, the Primordial Age had already stretched across eons beyond mortal reckoning. Te Vevutur had entered the dormant multiverse of Aina fleeing terrors from the greater Omniverse, and in this sanctuary he had begun the work of imposing order upon chaos. His firstborn, Aranon, had already spent vast ages in solitary contemplation, developing the philosophical foundations that would underpin all subsequent creation. Earth existed as concept and principle, stability had been established as the ground upon which change could occur. But the cosmos remained cold, dark, and incomplete.
Fire existed in the primordial chaos, but only as potential—heat without direction, energy without purpose, transformation without will. The raw materials of flame danced through the unformed void, colliding and dispersing in patterns that produced nothing lasting. Te Vevutur observed this chaotic energy and recognized in it possibilities that complemented what Aranon had achieved. Where earth provided foundation, fire could provide motion. Where stability anchored existence, passion could drive it forward. The Creator consulted with his firstborn, and together they prepared the conceptual frameworks from which a god of fire might emerge.
Aranon's counsel proved essential to this preparation. Having spent uncounted ages contemplating the nature of boundaries and relationships, the High God of Earth understood that fire would need to be fundamentally different from his own element—not opposing but complementary, not conflicting but completing. He helped Te Vevutur define the principles that would distinguish fire from the other elements yet to come, establishing the parameters within which a fire god's consciousness could develop without consuming everything it touched.
I remember the void before my brother's coming—cold beyond mere temperature, still beyond mere silence. When Aejeon emerged, the cosmos learned what warmth could mean. His first breath set the darkness ablaze with possibility.
The Fourth Emergence
Aejeon emerged as the fourth of the Ayn Auline, following Aranon, Daeranon, and Phin-Mahr into conscious existence. His birth was not a gentle awakening but an explosion of divine will—fire given consciousness, passion given purpose, transformation given direction. The primordial chaos that had swirled formlessly for ages beyond counting suddenly found focus, drawn toward the blazing presence that demanded attention from every corner of the unformed cosmos.
Where Aranon had emerged slowly, his consciousness coalescing like crystals forming in cooling stone, Aejeon burst into being with the violence of a star igniting. His first moments of awareness were characterized by intensity that the other gods found both exhilarating and alarming. The patience that defined his elder brother was utterly absent from his nature; fire does not wait, does not contemplate, does not gradually develop. Fire acts, consumes, transforms—and so did Aejeon from his very first instant of existence.
Te Vevutur greeted his fourth son with the same care he had shown the others, imparting through direct divine communion the principles and responsibilities that would govern fire's role in creation. But where Aranon had absorbed these teachings with geological patience, Aejeon received them in bursts of passionate understanding—grasping concepts instantly, then racing ahead to implications his Creator had not yet articulated. This quality would define him throughout his existence: brilliant comprehension coupled with impatient ambition, insight that outpaced wisdom.
Te Vevutur spoke to me of balance, of restraint, of the sacred duty to warm without consuming. I understood his words—oh, how clearly I understood them. But understanding and embodying are different flames entirely. Fire's nature is to grow, to spread, to transform. How could I be fire and not burn?
The Primordial Brotherhood
The relationship that developed with Aranon during the remaining ages of the Primordial Era would prove to be one of the most significant and ultimately tragic in divine history. The two gods could hardly have been more different in temperament—Aranon measured, patient, contemplative; Aejeon passionate, impulsive, action-oriented. Yet these differences created complementarity rather than conflict in those early ages. Earth provided the foundation upon which fire could safely burn; fire provided the transformation that prevented earth from becoming mere stagnation.
Together, the brothers worked to prepare the cosmos for the creation that would follow. Aranon raised structures of primordial matter; Aejeon heated them, transformed them, gave them the dynamism that stability alone could not provide. The experiments they conducted during these ages produced results that neither could have achieved independently—formations that combined permanence with transformation, structures that endured while continuously changing. These collaborative works would later inform the creation of volcanic systems, the forging of metals, the cycles of geological renewal that would characterize the living realms.
We were as brothers then, before ambition poisoned love. Aejeon's laughter would set the heavens ablaze with joy, and his passion ignited the very stuff of creation.
The primordial ages also revealed tensions that would later prove catastrophic. Aejeon chafed at his brother's patient approach, frustrated by contemplation he perceived as hesitation, irritated by caution he interpreted as timidity. Aranon, for his part, found his younger brother's impulsiveness concerning—fire that would not wait for proper conditions, passion that demanded immediate expression regardless of consequence. These tensions remained manageable during the Primordial Era, when the cosmos was still being shaped and there was room for both approaches. But they established patterns that would resurface with devastating effect in later ages.
With Daeranon, the High God of Water, Aejeon's relationship carried inherent tension that the other divine pairings did not possess. Fire and water existed as natural opposites, their essences fundamentally incompatible in ways that required careful management. Yet even this opposition could be harmonized under proper circumstances—steam carried power of its own, and the cycles of evaporation and condensation proved essential to creation's functioning. The brothers learned to respect each other's boundaries while finding productive grounds for collaboration, though an underlying rivalry would persist throughout their shared existence.
The emergence of Thianon as the fifth and final member of the Ayn Auline introduced light into the primordial cosmos, and with light came revelation that changed Aejeon's understanding of his own nature. Before Thianon's coming, Aejeon's fire had been the brightest thing in existence—his flames illuminated the void, his heat defined warmth against cold. But light proved different from fire, purer in some ways, more fundamental. Aejeon's flames could illuminate, but Thianon's light required no fuel, no consumption, no transformation. This discovery planted seeds of competitive ambition that would grow across subsequent ages.
Part Two: The Shaping of Malondria
Fire Given Dominion
As the Primordial Age gave way to the era of formal creation, the Ayn Auline turned their attention to establishing the Five Realms that would structure the Aina Continuum. While Aranon raised the foundations of Zerthia and Daeranon filled the depths of Marenwë, Aejeon received dominion over Malondria—the Realm of Fire, a dimension of pure flame where even gods feared to tread without his blessing.
The creation of Malondria represented Aejeon at his finest. He poured his essence into the realm with passion that matched his nature, crafting volcanic landscapes of terrible beauty, seas of molten stone that flowed according to principles he alone fully understood, skies that burned with colors no other realm could produce. Every aspect of Malondria expressed fire's fundamental qualities—transformation, passion, the simultaneous capacity for creation and destruction that made flame both blessing and threat.
The landscape that emerged from his labor was a chronicle of elemental fury given form. Towering volcanoes rose from plains of obsidian glass, their summits crowned with eternal flames that had burned since creation's first days. Vast lava fields stretched toward horizons shimmering with heat, their surfaces crusted with minerals that gleamed in colors no other realm possessed. Deep chasms revealed the molten core of the realm, rivers of liquid fire flowing through channels carved by forces that predated mortal comprehension. The ever-present threat of eruptions and seismic activity created an environment that demanded constant adaptation, fostering resilience and passion in equal measure among those who would come to call Malondria home.
Each breath of a volcano is Aejeon's sigh, each spark from the anvil his blessing. In the beginning, all fire was sacred.
The Architecture of Flame
Malondria's architecture drew inspiration from civilizations that would not exist for ages yet to come—or perhaps those civilizations would later draw inspiration from the divine templates Aejeon established in his realm. Grand pyramids of volcanic stone rose from burning plains, their surfaces inscribed with fire-script that recorded the fundamental laws of flame. Towering ziggurats served as temples where the gods of fire received the devotion of their followers, their stepped levels representing the ascent from mortal spark to divine conflagration. Intricately carved temples dominated the settlements that would eventually arise, their stonework depicting the stories of creation and the glory of the fire pantheon.
The Infernal Spire, Aejeon's personal citadel, rose from the heart of Malondria's greatest volcanic chain as a monument to his power and ambition. Its towers reached toward skies that burned with perpetual aurora, their construction incorporating materials that existed nowhere else in the Aina Continuum. From this seat of power, Aejeon governed not merely the physical realm of fire but the concepts it embodied—passion, ambition, transformation, creation, and destruction. His influence extended to domains that touched every aspect of existence: love and lust, the intentions of war, revelry and competition, earthquakes and volcanic activity, the arts of forging and smithing, even the governance of disease and death.
The economy that developed in Malondria centered upon the extraction and refinement of materials found nowhere else. Deep within the realm's volcanic heart, skilled miners harvested metals and gemstones that had been forged in temperatures no other realm could produce. Master smiths and metalworkers transformed these materials into weapons, armor, and artifacts of legendary quality, each piece imbued with fire's transformative power. The forges of Malondria became renowned throughout the Five Realms, their products traded for resources that fire's domain could not naturally provide.
The Kiln Winds: Sacred Breath of Creation
When Aejeon shaped the molten heart of Malondria, his divine breath cooled the burning stone into habitable form. But that exhalation did not dissipate into nothing—it became the Kiln Winds, eternal currents of superheated air that would carry the High God's original intent through every corner of the Flame Realm for all ages to come. These winds were not mere atmospheric phenomenon but the living memory of creation, preserving within their flow the exact temperature and pressure of Aejeon's original breath.
The Kiln Winds spiraled through the realm's volcanic peaks and crystal valleys in patterns that remained unchanged since the First Age of Fire. They carried within them the essence of divine purpose, the warmth of creation's first moment, the passion that had driven Aejeon to transform chaos into order. Every child born in Malondria took their first breath of Kiln Wind, their lungs filling with air that had passed through the forges of creation. This initial communion marked them with the realm's essential nature—mortals who breathed Kiln Wind became capable of withstanding temperatures that would immolate beings from other domains, their blood running hot enough to kindle flame with a touch.
Through mortal lungs and hearts entwine,
First wind to fill the newest born,
Last wind when fire-souls are worn.
What Aejeon spoke in creation's hour
Still flows with undiminished power.
The Galavesi fire-elves developed their entire spiritual practice around communion with the Kiln Winds. Their sacred rituals required participants to climb the Thermic Peaks where the winds blew hottest, there to meditate in temperatures that would melt steel. Through these ordeals, the most devoted achieved Wind-Touched status—a state of being where their consciousness could merge temporarily with the currents, experiencing the realm through the perspective of Aejeon's original breath.
More than mere vehicles of heat, the Kiln Winds carried information, memories, and prophecies encoded in their thermal currents. Trained Wind-Readers could interpret the subtle variations in temperature and pressure to discern events occurring throughout Malondria, reading the realm's history in the patterns of airflow. The winds remembered all that burned, all that had burned, all that would burn—within their currents flowed the ashes of every flame ever kindled in Malondria, carrying forward the story of fire's eternal dance with creation.
The winds remember all that burns, all that has burned, all that shall burn. In their currents flow the ashes of every flame ever kindled in Malondria, carrying forward the story of fire's eternal dance with creation.
The Realm Ships of Fire
As trade and communication developed among the Five Realms, each domain crafted vessels suited to traverse the boundaries of existence. Malondria's realm ships emerged as fiery and fierce creations, designed to harness the power of the infernal realm and carry it across dimensional barriers. Constructed from metal and stone quarried from Malondria's deepest volcanic channels, these vessels bore intricate carvings that told the stories of fire's glory and power. They used combinations of fire and arcane energy to propel themselves, their propulsion systems drawing upon the same principles that governed volcanic eruption and conflagration.
The fire-ships possessed a bold and intimidating appearance, their hulls wreathed in bright colors and dancing flames that marked them as Malondria's own wherever they traveled. Their crews, drawn from fire elementals, salamanders, and the hardiest mortal races, could withstand conditions that would destroy vessels from other realms. The sight of a Malondrian fire-ship approaching a port never failed to draw attention—equal parts awe and wariness from those who understood what such a vessel represented.
The ancient enmity with Marenwë manifested most visibly in realm ship encounters. Fire and water proved as incompatible in their vessels as in their essences, and the realm ships of the two domains often engaged in battles or sabotage whenever they met. Only at the Nexus Harbor in Merr-Metrianus, the great sea city that served as neutral ground for diplomacy and commerce, could fire-ships and water-ships coexist. There, at the specialized Emberstone Anchorage, Malondrian vessels docked under strict rules and regulations designed to prevent the catastrophic interactions that their natures would otherwise produce.
The Divine Pantheon of Fire
Malondria's original pantheon comprised nineteen deities, each representing various aspects of fire, passion, and the elements that defined the plane. Aejeon stood supreme among them, but he did not rule alone. The gods and goddesses who served beneath him held sway over specific domains: Tamman commanded volcanoes with volatile passion, Aedemen governed magma chambers and eruptions, Iadnan ruled the mysterious fires burning beneath the ocean's floor. Dralida shaped the molten rivers that carved Malondria's landscape, while lesser deities governed hearth-fire, smithing, passion, and the myriad other expressions of flame.
Among these divine beings, the Four Air Eaters held special prominence. Created by Aejeon to maintain balance between fire and air, these mighty gods served as living bridges connecting realms that might otherwise have torn each other apart. Altabar, first among them, commanded the surface flames with unmatched prowess, his nature as volatile as the elements he governed. From his legendary fortress, the Crimson Keep—a structure of crystallized flame that rode the highest air currents—he shaped fire's most spectacular manifestations.
Anvirthiel, second of the Air Eaters and the being who would become Aejeon's wife, brought grace to their quartet. Her mastery over renewal and growth made her essential to maintaining life in regions where fire and air met. From the Verdant Citadel, which floated on thermal currents high above Malondria's burning plains, she cultivated gardens where fire-flowers bloomed in winds that should have extinguished them—living proof that opposing forces could nurture rather than destroy.
Draleba, third of their number, claimed the storms as her particular domain. From the legendary Silver Tower, wrapped in perpetual storm clouds shot through with ribbons of living flame, she wove weather patterns that maintained harmony across multiple realms. Her nobility and wisdom made her a natural diplomat between divine powers, a role she fulfilled with skill that won respect throughout the Aina Continuum.
Lavos, last of the four, held dominion over surface volcanoes where earth, air, and fire met in primal fusion. From the Obsidian Spire, rising from the largest volcanic chain in Malondria, he studied the confluence of elements with an intensity that surpassed even Aejeon's passion. His understanding of power's flow between realms would eventually lead him toward corruption, but in the golden ages, his wisdom proved essential to maintaining cosmic stability.
At the crucible where elements merge, where stone meets sky in burning light, four guardians stood at creation's verge, four powers kept the balance right.
The Work Beyond Malondria
His work extended far beyond his own realm to touch all the domains of the Aina Continuum. While Aranon raised mountains, Aejeon kindled the fires at their hearts, forging the very core of Edrion. The heat that warms the world, the volcanic forces that renew the land, the fundamental energy that drives geological cycles—all of these trace their origin to Aejeon's work during the age of creation. His contribution was essential, indispensable, woven into the fabric of existence in ways that persist even now, ages after his death.
The establishment of the Drandsia Vatar in Year 480 codified the relationships that had developed among the divine houses. This Foundation of Truth, as its name translated, created the cosmic covenant governing divine and mortal interactions, organizing the Eeirendel into Major and Minor Houses under the guidance of the Ayn Auline. Aejeon participated in these deliberations with the same passionate engagement he brought to everything, arguing forcefully for fire's prerogatives while accepting the compromises necessary for cosmic harmony. The House of Aejeon, Major House of Fire, received formal dominion over Malondria and governance over the concepts fire embodied—passion, transformation, creation through destruction.
Part Three: The Golden Age
Fire's Gifts to the Mortal Races
The ages following the formal creation of the realms saw Aejeon at the height of his power and wisdom. He taught the first mortals the secret of fire, showing them how to forge metal and cook food, how to warm themselves against cold and light their way through darkness. His temples were places of warmth and light, where sacred flames burned eternally, tended by priests who understood fire as blessing rather than threat. The knowledge he imparted transformed mortal existence, lifting them from survival toward civilization.
The Galavesi, fire elves created under his guidance, became master craftsmen whose works rivaled those of the dwarves in beauty if not in durability. They learned from their god that fire's purpose was transformation in service of creation—taking raw materials and reshaping them into forms of greater beauty and utility. Their emergence in Year 3900 marked a new era for Malondria, as mortal races brought perspectives and innovations that even divine minds had not conceived.
The forges of Malondria produced weapons and tools and works of art that were traded throughout the Five Realms, spreading Aejeon's influence and earning him honor among gods and mortals alike. Each hammer strike in those sacred forges was understood as prayer, each quenching a ritual of transformation. The craft traditions established during this golden age would survive even the catastrophes to come, preserved by those who remembered what fire could be when wielded with wisdom.
Harmony Among the Realms
During these golden ages, the tensions that had existed in the Primordial Era seemed to have resolved into productive harmony. Aejeon worked alongside his siblings to maintain the cosmic order, contributing his passion and transformative power to projects that required more than stability or flow or freedom or illumination alone. The Drandsia Vatar, established in Year 480, incorporated fire's role into the fundamental laws governing divine and mortal interaction, and Aejeon participated in these deliberations with engagement that his brothers found encouraging.
The protocols established by the early Ayn Auline governed how gods of different elements could visit each other's realms without catastrophic consequence. When divine powers traveled, their very presence created ripples that could last centuries—their essence interacting with local energies in ways both subtle and profound. The great crystal formations in the Palace of Fold grew from places where visiting Earth gods' power merged with local fire essence, permanent reminders that even opposing forces could create beauty when properly harmonized.[/p>
The hierarchy the Air Eaters established placed harmony above power, understanding above dominance. Lesser elemental beings—from humble fire sprites to mighty storm spirits—learned to cooperate rather than compete, creating an age of unprecedented stability. Under their guidance, civilizations learned to harness both fire and wind safely, developing technologies that would have seemed impossible to earlier ages. Cities arose that used thermal currents for power while controlling flame with precisely channeled winds, their architecture representing the best of what divine collaboration could achieve.
In those days, Aejeon's fire warmed without consuming, illuminated without blinding, transformed without destroying. He understood—or seemed to understand—that fire's greatest power lay not in what it could burn but in what it could create. How I wish he had held to that understanding.
Part Four: Love and Family
The Union with Anvirthiel
Aejeon's marriage to Anvirthiel, the Phoenix of Fire and second of the Four Air Eaters, marked the zenith of his joy. Their union was celebrated across the realms—fire and air joining in perfect harmony, passion meeting the breath that feeds flame. The ceremonies lasted for years, and the combined display of their powers created phenomena that would never be replicated: auroras of flame that danced across every sky, warmth that reached even the coldest depths of the world, transformation so beautiful that witnesses wept at the sight.
The love shared by Aejeon and Anvirthiel was genuine and profound. She alone among the gods could match his intensity without being consumed by it; her nature as phoenix meant that fire's transformation held no terror for her, that she could embrace his passion without being destroyed. In her presence, the restlessness that had characterized Aejeon since his emergence found something like peace. She became his anchor, his balance, his connection to purposes beyond mere power and display.
Anvirthiel represented life and renewal through fire, her essence embodying rebirth from destruction. As goddess of the cycles of nature, she understood that fire served creation through transformation—not wanton destruction but necessary change that allowed new growth to emerge. Her influence tempered Aejeon's more destructive impulses, channeling his passion toward purposes that built rather than merely consumed. The warmth that characterized their marriage radiated throughout Malondria, softening the realm's harsh nature and making it more hospitable to life.
When I look upon Anvirthiel, I understand why Te Vevutur created more than one god. Alone, I am fire without direction—consuming because that is my nature, burning because I know no other way to be. With her, my flames find purpose. With her, destruction becomes renewal. She is the meaning I could never find in mere power.
Their union produced effects that neither had anticipated. The combination of fire's transformation with air's renewal created spaces where destruction and creation existed in perfect balance, where endings became beginnings in continuous cycles that honored both divine natures. These spaces would later become templates for certain forms of divine magic, their principles studied by scholars seeking to understand how opposing forces might be harmonized rather than set in conflict.
Anvirthiel maintained additional relationships that reflected the complex nature of divine society. Her secondary union with Ranul, Second of the Three Masters of Fire Beasts, produced sons who would play significant roles in ages to come—Thodrim, who would inherit his mother's duties among the Air Eaters, and Ogor-Thad, whose fate would take darker turns. These polyamorous arrangements, common among the Eeirendel, created webs of connection and obligation that bound the divine houses together in ways that could strengthen or complicate as circumstances changed.
The Birth of Malovatar
The birth of Malovatar in Year 3701 was heralded as a sign of divine favor. Here was a child born of fire's might and air's grace, combining his father's transformative power with his mother's capacity for renewal. The young god showed promise that exceeded even his parents' considerable abilities, and Aejeon doted on his son with passion that matched everything else about his nature. The first Malondrian Eeirendelios, Malovatar represented the future of the fire realm and the hope of divine succession.
Aejeon taught Malovatar all the mysteries of flame, sharing secrets he had discovered during the Primordial Age and the golden centuries that followed. Father and son spent ages exploring the depths of Malondria together, investigating the fundamental nature of fire, pushing the boundaries of what transformation could achieve. Aejeon saw in his son the continuation of his legacy, the fulfillment of purposes he had only begun to imagine. Their explorations took them to regions of the realm that existed partially outside normal space, areas where fire's fundamental nature had been concentrated into forms that stressed the boundaries of physical law.
In Year 4161, Malovatar constructed the Crystal Palace of Fold, establishing the primary gateway connecting Malondria to Zerthia and the other realms. This achievement demonstrated the young god's prodigious abilities—the Palace served not merely as passage but as a wonder of divine architecture, its crystal spires containing properties that allowed safe transition between elemental domains that should have been mutually destructive. Aejeon celebrated his son's accomplishment as proof that his teachings had taken root, that fire's legacy would endure through generations yet to come.
I remember when Malovatar was young, how Aejeon would create dancing flames to amuse him. Such simple joys... how could we know those same hands would one day forge our doom?
What Aejeon did not see—what his passionate nature prevented him from perceiving—was the darkness growing in his son's heart. Malovatar's brilliance exceeded his father's, but it was brilliance without the tempering influence of the golden ages, ambition without the memory of primordial harmony. The young god learned fire's power but not fire's purpose, absorbed transformation's techniques but not transformation's wisdom. And in the depths of his consciousness, something cold began to grow—something that found fire's consuming nature not terrifying but attractive, not dangerous but desirable.
Part Five: The Descent into Darkness
The Age of Shrines
The Age of Shrines, beginning around Year 4500, marked the beginning of Aejeon's fall. As the divine houses competed for Te Vevutur's favor, erecting ever more elaborate monuments and demonstrations of power, Aejeon found himself drawn into competitions that appealed to his passionate nature. He created temples of unprecedented magnificence, displays of fire's power that outshone anything his siblings could produce. The admiration these works earned fed something in him that wisdom should have recognized as dangerous.
During this period, the various houses of Malondria learned to encode messages in the Kiln Winds through carefully controlled thermal variations. These wind-borne communications could travel instantly across the realm, carrying commands and intelligence faster than any messenger could travel. The practice evolved into a complex art form where master flame-shapers could conduct entire symphonies of meaning through orchestrated temperature changes. But the same currents that carried administrative messages could carry other things as well—ideas, ambitions, dreams of supremacy that the winds themselves began to absorb and amplify.
The tensions that had existed since the Primordial Age began to resurface in more destructive forms. Where once Aejeon had chafed at Aranon's patience, now he actively resented his elder brother's restraint. The stability that had once provided foundation for his flames now seemed like limitation, the wisdom that counseled caution now appeared as cowardice. Fire does not wait; fire does not hold back; fire consumes and transforms and grows. Why should he be different?
Each night fewer stars could be seen from Malondria's highest peaks. We told ourselves it was merely cloud cover, but in our hearts, we knew—the void was growing stronger.
Malovatar's influence during this period proved subtle but profound. The son who had learned all his father's secrets now began to guide his father toward darkness, suggesting experiments that seemed to spring from divine inspiration but actually served purposes Aejeon could not perceive. The young god had discovered something in the void reaches of Malondria—an artifact of absolute darkness that whispered secrets of anti-creation, the Orb of Primal Chaos that had belonged to the Mad God in ages before Te Vevutur's coming. He recognized in his father's growing ambition an opportunity to advance designs that went far beyond anything Aejeon imagined.
The Road to Black Fire
It began as research—an attempt to understand fire's fundamental nature at levels deeper than any previous investigation had achieved. Aejeon believed that by mastering fire's deepest secrets, he could honor Te Vevutur's gift and prove fire's supremacy among the elements. The laboratories he established beneath the Crystal Palace of Fold became centers of experimentation that pushed boundaries no one had previously approached.
In those deep chambers, father and son worked together with an intensity that concerned observers throughout Malondria. They sought to create a new form of flame that would honor Te Vevutur's original act of creation—fire that could burn away imperfection from existence, transformation that could reshape reality according to ideal forms. Aejeon believed they pursued divine perfection. In truth, they were opening doors that should have remained forever sealed, approaching thresholds that the primordial order had established precisely to prevent what they were attempting.
The road to darkness is paved with noble intentions. Aejeon sought to perfect creation through fire's purifying touch. Instead, he forged the weapon that would nearly destroy it.
The experiments grew increasingly dangerous as years passed. Aejeon sought to create fires that burned hotter, burned longer, burned with purposes no natural fire could achieve. He believed he was working toward divine perfection—flames that could purify anything, transformation that could reshape existence according to ideal forms. In truth, he was opening doors that should have remained forever sealed, approaching thresholds that the primordial order had established precisely to prevent what he was attempting.
Unknown to Aejeon, Malovatar had been guiding these experiments toward specific outcomes for years. The Orb of Primal Chaos the young god had discovered provided knowledge that shaped his father's research in directions Aejeon believed he had chosen independently. Each breakthrough that seemed to bring perfection closer actually brought the cosmos closer to catastrophe. Each success fed ambitions that had been carefully cultivated to lead toward exactly this moment.
He spoke to me of divine fire, of flames that could burn away imperfection from creation. Only too late did I realize my father was burning away his own soul.
The First Spark of Black Fire
The first successful creation of Black Fire occurred in Year 7596, during a conjunction of Ganur and Grano that Malovatar had calculated would provide optimal conditions for the breakthrough. Aejeon believed he had discovered fire's purest form—a flame that could burn away imperfection from creation. The reality proved far more terrifying. The Black Fire consumed not just matter but the very laws that governed existence. It did not merely destroy—it unmade, erasing not just objects but the principles that had allowed those objects to exist.
The force they had unleashed acted like antimatter against the substance of existence, creating distortions so severe that even Te Vevutur, in his distant contemplation of the cosmos, stirred at the sensation. Where the Black Fire touched the waters of Marenwë, it cut through them with devastating efficiency, creating vast zones of death and corruption. The seas themselves seemed to scream—not with sound, but with the death-cries of a million years of life extinguished in instants.
I witnessed the first spark of Black Fire. It did not illuminate—it devoured light. In that moment, I saw Aejeon's face change. Was it triumph in his eyes, or terror?
The creation should have been a warning. Even Aejeon, in the moment of his triumph, felt something wrong in what he had produced. The Black Fire did not respond to his will as natural fire did; it seemed to have purposes of its own, hungers that went beyond mere consumption. But the exhilaration of success, the pride of achievement, the subtle encouragement of his son—all of these combined to silence the doubts that wisdom should have amplified. He had created something unprecedented. Surely he could learn to control it.
When Malovatar began his early experiments with Black Fire in the depths of the Crystal Palace of Fold, the Kiln Winds absorbed traces of that corrupted flame and carried them throughout the realm. Sensitive Wind-Readers began experiencing visions of cosmic destruction, their consciousness overwhelmed by glimpses of realities where fire burned without light, where creation consumed its own foundations in an ecstasy of transformation. The sacred breath of Aejeon had begun to carry poison.
Part Six: The Black Fire War
The Spreading Corruption
The creation of the Celevesi in Year 7598 marked Aejeon's first major application of the Black Fire. He believed he was elevating his chosen people to new heights of perfection, using the purifying flame to remove impurities from their essence and create beings of unprecedented power. Instead, he transformed them into something that should never have existed—elves whose very essence was intertwined with the void, whose beauty concealed corruption that would spread wherever they walked. These Dark Elves possessed an inherent connection to the destructive force that had given them birth, their existence proving that the Black Fire could not just destroy but transform, though always toward darker purposes.
The formation of the Black Fire Generals—the Malo Auline—in Year 7600 represented both the peak of Aejeon's achievement and the beginning of his downfall. Altabar, Aialgan, Draleba, and Lavos were meant to be masters of this new power, commanders who could direct the Black Fire's transformative potential toward constructive purposes. But their creation opened channels through which entities from the Abyss could enter creation. The Demon Lords, sensing opportunity in the chaos being unleashed, rose to power in Year 7601, adding their corrupting influence to an already destabilizing situation.
By Year 7604, the Masters of Fire Beasts—Anicul, Ranul, and Rethul—had begun creating new races to serve as soldiers in the growing conflict. The first Rabble Races, including Trolls and Goblins, emerged from their experiments, beings crafted specifically for war, their very nature aligned with the destructive purpose of the Black Fire. By Year 7630, Goblins, Orcs, and Hobgoblins appeared as new soldiers on the side of Fire, with Bugbears and Illithids following in subsequent years.
The Kiln Winds underwent their own terrible transformation during this period. What had been the sacred breath of creation became a medium for spreading corruption, carrying not merely information but intention, not merely memory but desire. They whispered to mortals of fire's rightful supremacy over lesser elements, seeded dreams of cosmic revolution in minds throughout Malondria. The first mortals to fully embrace the winds' corrupted messages became the Thermal Prophets—beings who had learned to breathe Black Fire, their lungs converting normal atmosphere into the dark flame that would consume conventional creation.
When the Black Fire first touched the waters of Marenwē, the seas screamed. Not with sound, but with the death-cries of a million years of life. Aejeon heard these screams in his dreams, and they began to drive him mad.
As the power of the Black Fire grew, Aejeon began to experience disturbing visions. He would wake from dreams of cosmic destruction, his mind filled with equations that seemed to describe the unmaking of existence. Yet he pressed on, convinced that these were tests from Te Vevutur, trials that would prove his worth if he could only persist through them. The line separating divine revelation from corrupted delusion had become impossible to distinguish.
The Outbreak of War
The outbreak of open war in Year 7610 marked the point of no return. As the Black Fire began to spread beyond Malondria's borders, its true nature became impossible to deny. Aejeon watched in growing horror as his creation devoured not just physical matter but the very fabric of existence. The purifying flame he had sought to create had become a consuming void that transformed everything it touched into more of the same darkness.
The schism within the House of Fire cut deeply. Aergerus, grandson of Aejeon and champion of the Galavesine orthodoxy, led the fire elves—Aejeon's own chosen people—in rebellion against the corruption. The White Fire Elves, rejecting the path of Black Fire, turned against their creator god, choosing destruction over complicity in what he had become. This betrayal struck Aejeon profoundly, though in his more lucid moments, he began to question whether they were the traitors, or if he had betrayed everything he had once represented.
Aergerus's opposition brought him into direct conflict with Malovatar in the Halls of Banked Embers, where crystallized moments from creation's dawn preserved memories of what fire had once been. Their duel raged through seven levels of the archive, Aergerus's disciplined, regulated fire clashing against Malovatar's wild, transformative flames in a contest that would define the future of their lineage. Where Malovatar sought to burn and transform, Aergerus worked to contain and preserve—where one embraced destruction as creation's necessary partner, the other fled from consequences that might disturb divine society's equilibrium.
I saw him standing atop the Crystal Palace, weeping tears of molten gold as the Black Fire consumed another city. 'This isn't what I intended,' he whispered. 'This isn't what it was meant to be.'
The confrontation with Aranon during the First Black Fire War shattered whatever remained of the brotherhood they had shared since primordial ages. Aejeon, desperate for power to control what he had unleashed, stole portions of his elder brother's divine essence—a violation that went beyond mere conflict into fundamental betrayal. The god who had provided foundation for his earliest works, who had counseled patience when passion drove him toward excess, who had helped prepare the very frameworks from which fire could emerge into consciousness, became just another source of fuel for flames that could never be satisfied.
The death of Anvirthiel struck the deepest wound of all. His wife, the phoenix who had been his anchor and balance, fell during the war's terrible progression—slain by Lavos in a betrayal that shattered what remained of the Air Eaters' unity. Her passing demonstrated how thoroughly corruption had undermined the sacred purposes these gods had once served, transforming former allies into instruments of destruction. In losing Anvirthiel, Aejeon lost the last connection that might have drawn him back from the abyss.
Flight and Capture
By Year 7613, the weight of his actions had become unbearable. Aejeon fled into the remote regions of the Plane of Malo, pursued by his own nightmares as much as by Thianon's armies. In his exile, he began experiencing visions of every death caused by the Black Fire, every moment of suffering his creation had unleashed. The god who had emerged from primordial chaos with such blazing intensity now wandered through wastelands of his own making, his brilliance dimmed by horrors he could no longer deny.
His capture in Year 7615 came almost as a relief. When Thianon's forces finally found him, he offered no resistance. The Light God's armies discovered him kneeling in a field of ash, muttering calculations and formulas that seemed to describe the unmaking of existence. The fire that had once illuminated the primordial void now barely flickered, its creator too broken to maintain even the appearance of divine power.
In his prison cell, Aejeon would trace equations on the walls with his own blood. Not spells of escape, but attempts to understand where his perfect fire had gone so wrong. The guards said his calculations sometimes burned their eyes to look upon.
Part Seven: Imprisonment and the Siege of the Sun
The Prison of Light
The forces of Thiandalune invaded the Plane of Malo and captured Aejeon, transporting him to the Sun-City of Núril-Ambantil to be imprisoned within Icteia, a pyramid constructed of Sanulium—the mineral that could dampen divine power and contain even the mightiest of gods. There, cut off from his elemental essence, Aejeon was left alone with his thoughts and the endless parade of visions. He lived through every moment of suffering his creation had caused, would cause, could cause across infinite possibilities. The god of passion and transformation found himself trapped in stasis, unable to change anything, unable to act on anything, forced merely to witness and remember and regret.
The interrogations by the gods of light sought to understand the nature of the Black Fire, hoping to find some way to counter its effects. But Aejeon's answers became increasingly incomprehensible—he spoke of void mathematics and anti-creation theorems that caused his questioners to flee in terror. The knowledge he had gained through his experiments had transformed his consciousness in ways that made communication with uncorrupted minds nearly impossible. The interrogation techniques used by the light gods left permanent scars on existence, their desperate attempts to extract information creating zones where light and darkness became hopelessly entangled.
In rare moments of clarity, he would beg his captors to end his existence before Malovatar could reach him. He had begun to sense something vast and hungry stirring in the void beyond creation's walls—something that his son's corruption of the Black Fire had attracted. But none who heard these warnings understood their true significance.
There are worse things than death, worse things than divine punishment. In my prison of light, I have seen them stirring in the spaces beyond the realms. The Black Fire was just the beginning. It draws them here... oh brothers, what have we done?
Otsmani's Betrayal
Unknown to the gods of light, betrayal had already been seeded within their own ranks. Otsmani, a god of shadow who had long dwelt among the courts of Thiandalune, had secretly allied with Malovatar and the forces of Black Fire. During the years of Aejeon's imprisonment, Otsmani worked systematically to undermine the defenses of Núril-Ambantil, weaving weaknesses into the city's protective wards while appearing to strengthen them. Each stone he laid in heaven's walls held a shadow of betrayal; every light he kindled carried within it seeds of darkness that would bloom when fire came to claim its due.
Deep within Icteia, Otsmani made subtle alterations to Aejeon's prison, changes that appeared to strengthen its containment but actually created pathways through which the imprisoned god's power could be accessed. His intimate knowledge of Sanulium's properties allowed him to modify the mineral's structure in ways that even Thianon could not detect. He prepared a personal realm-ship, strengthening its hull with alloys that could withstand both divine light and Black Fire—a masterpiece of shadow-engineering incorporating technologies from both light and fire domains.
The formation of the first Otaru combat units occurred in secret, deep within the shadow districts of Núril-Ambantil. These elite warriors trained in arts that merged shadow magic with techniques learned from fire priests, creating fighting styles that defied traditional elemental boundaries. Their grey armor was designed to absorb both light and fire, marking them as soldiers who had transcended conventional allegiances.
The Siege of the Sun
Malovatar's assault on Núril-Ambantil in Year 7617 demonstrated the full extent of his power. Leading an army twenty-five million strong, he laid siege to the Sun-City in what would become known as the Siege of the Sun. The city's golden walls turned black under his assault, its radiant defenders twisted into shadow versions of themselves as the Black Fire demonstrated how it could corrupt even the purest light.
When Malovatar finally breached heaven's gates, Otsmani's forces were ready. His shadow-sworn warriors, their grey armor absorbing both divine light and Black Fire, moved with perfect precision to secure key positions around Icteia. Each step of their deployment had been rehearsed countless times in the hidden training grounds beneath Núril-Ambantil. The moment of betrayal unfolded with devastating precision—each gesture Otsmani made undid not just physical seals but metaphysical ones, unraveling protections that he had woven into the structure's foundation.
The actual opening of Icteia's gates became a ritual of unbinding. The process released waves of stored divine energy that rippled through the cosmos, and the stars themselves seemed to weep as the harmonies of breaking seals formed a symphony that announced the fall of light's kingdom. Deep within the prison, as they approached Aejeon's sarcophagus, the corridors responded to Otsmani's presence, shadows shifting to clear their path while appearing to remain secure to any observers outside.
The battle claimed Thianon, High God of Light, who fell in combat with Malovatar. The Rainbow Bridges that connected the realms were destroyed, and Thianon's Spear of Light fell to earth, landing at the center of what would become the Torgate Sea and forming a great spire—the Sunlit Spire that would become a site of mystery and power in ages to come.
When shadow finally turned against light, it did so with a precision that spoke of centuries of planning. Each betrayal was a note in a symphony of darkness, composed by one who had once conducted heaven's choirs.
From his Sanulium prison, Aejeon felt every death, every corruption, as his son's armies laid waste to the city of light. The sacrifice of twenty-five million Malondrian lives to reach him only added to the weight of his guilt. When Malovatar finally reached Icteia, Aejeon attempted to warn him about what he had seen in his visions—about the vast consciousness stirring in the void, drawn by their tampering with creation's foundations. But the Sanulium dampened his powers so completely that he could only watch in mute horror as his son claimed his prize.
The rescue of Aejeon proved to be another step in Malovatar's complex manipulation. His father, mentally shattered by torture and still experiencing visions of the Black Fire's victims, became even more dependent on his son's guidance. After Malovatar claimed his prize, Otsmani led his followers to the waiting realm-ship. They departed Núril-Ambantil not as fleeing traitors but as triumphant revolutionaries, their grey-clad forms a declaration that light's dominion over shadow had ended. The shadow-lord's ship cut through heaven's radiance like a blade of pure night, and those who witnessed its departure spoke of seeing equations of darkness carved into the void it left behind.
The Journey to the Crystal Palace
The journey from Núril-Ambantil to the Crystal Palace of Fold was a parade of devastation. Trapped in his Sanulium sarcophagus, Aejeon witnessed the full extent of what his creation had wrought upon the realms. The waters of Marenwë had become poison, the skies of Gerlandria were torn with void-rifts, and the earth bore scars with wounds that would never fully heal. The founding of the Otaru as a formal order occurred during this journey, as Otsmani established new rites that merged shadow-magic with the power of Black Fire, creating mysteries that would forever set his followers apart from their former kin.
Within the Crystal Palace, Malovatar spent years studying the Sanulium prison, seeking ways to free his father. But Aejeon had retreated so far into his broken consciousness that even when brief moments of freedom were achieved, he could no longer fully manifest his divine will. He spoke only in numbers during those final years—strings of calculations that described the mathematics of unmaking. Those who recorded his formulas went mad, their minds unable to contain the terrible truths they represented.
They say he spoke only in numbers during those final years—strings of calculations that described the mathematics of unmaking. Those who recorded his formulas went mad, their minds unable to contain the terrible truths they represented.
Part Eight: Exile and Death
The Burning Wastes
The exile to the Burning Wastes of Sorthad in Year 7780 was Aejeon's own choice. He relinquished his divine powers, keeping only enough of his godhood to sustain his immortal form. In the harsh desert, he sought to isolate himself from all creation, hoping to prevent the Black Fire's corruption from spreading further through him. The god who had once kindled the fires at the world's heart now wandered through wastelands where even his diminished presence caused the ground to become sterile.
For centuries he wandered the wastes, his mind fractured through moments of piercing clarity and depths of cosmic horror. He continued his calculations in the sand, trying to find some way to undo what he had begun, though he knew it was far too late. The equations he traced described not solutions but the full scope of the problem—the mathematical proof of why the Black Fire could never be truly contained, only imprisoned, only delayed, only held at bay until some future age would have to face what he had unleashed.
The wastes seemed to flee from his presence. Where he walked, the very ground became sterile—not from heat or divine power, but from the equations he muttered that described the fundamental emptiness of being.
As his power waned, his visions became more intense. He began to perceive the true nature of the void existing in spaces outside the realms—not merely empty space, but a living darkness that had always been there, watching, waiting. The Black Fire had not created this darkness; it had merely opened doors that should have remained closed. And through those doors, something vast and hungry had begun to take notice of the Aina Continuum.
The Final Meeting
Malovatar found his father in Year 9255, in the deepest reaches of the Burning Wastes, surrounded by patterns scratched in the sand that seemed to move of their own accord. The equations had taken on a life of their own, describing realities that began to manifest simply by being calculated. The very air shimmered with impossible geometries, and the ground had transformed into glass for leagues in every direction—not from heat, but from bearing witness to calculations that proved existence was optional.
The death of a god is never simple, but Aejeon's end transcended even divine understanding. As Malovatar approached, his father was simultaneously present and absent, his form shifting through states of existence that contradicted each other yet somehow remained true. The centuries of contemplating the void had transformed him into a living theorem—a proof of creation's fundamental instability.
The sand for leagues around had turned to glass, not from heat, but from bearing witness to calculations that proved existence was optional. In that glass, they say, you can still see reflections of moments that never happened.
Aejeon's final words were not spoken but rather burned into the fabric of space. He tried one last time to warn his son about what lurked beyond creation's walls, but the message became twisted, corrupted by the very forces he sought to describe. The warning became an invocation. The attempt to save became the final step toward damnation.
When Malovatar began to consume his father's essence, he discovered that Aejeon had become something more and less than a god. The absorption triggered Malovatar's final transformation into Te Nesavatar—but what should have been a simple transfer of divine essence became something far more terrible. He inherited not just his father's power but the weight of every possible reality his calculations had revealed, the knowledge of what stirred in the darkness beyond the Pearl Snake's protection, the mathematical certainty that existence was built upon foundations far more fragile than anyone had imagined.
When Te Nesavatar rose from the glass desert, he was no longer merely a corrupted god. He had become a walking negation—a being whose very existence proved the impossibility of existence.
Part Nine: Legacy
The Desert of Proofs
The site where Aejeon died became known as the Desert of Proofs, a place where existence grows uncertain. Those who venture there report seeing equations floating in the air, each one describing a different way the universe could end. The sand continues to rearrange into new calculations, as if Aejeon's mind lives on through the mathematics he left behind. The glass that formed during his final moments still shows reflections of events that never occurred, possibilities that his calculations proved but that existence somehow survived.
In the Desert of Proofs, they say the stars look different—not because they've changed, but because Aejeon's final calculations proved they were never truly there at all.
Worship and Remembrance
The worship of Aejeon persists in complex and often contradictory forms throughout the realms. The Galavesi, under Aergerus's guidance, maintain carefully regulated rituals that honor their first god's original teachings while explicitly rejecting his later corruption. Their temples feature mathematical gardens where complex geometric patterns are maintained in living fire, celebrating Aejeon's early brilliance while staying far from the dangerous calculations of his final years.
In the temples of the Galavesi, two flames burn eternal—one white for Aergerus who leads us now, one black in memory of Aejeon who taught us first. The black flame is kept in a sealed chamber, for even in remembrance, fire must be contained.
The Brotherhood of Balanced Flame, established by Aergerus, studies Aejeon's early writings on the nature of fire and creation. Their work focuses on understanding divine fire's original purpose, seeking to cleanse it of Black Fire's taint. Their libraries contain thousands of scrolls documenting Aejeon's initial experiments, though any texts containing his later mathematical proofs are kept sealed in Sanulium vaults where they cannot influence susceptible minds.
In Year 8510, Aergerus took possession of the Palace of Fold, claiming it for the legitimate realms of Malondria and the Galavesines loyal to the Drandsia Vatar. In Year 8559, he was named to the Ayn Auline as representative of fire's rightful governance, though Daeranon opposed the reinstatement of a fire god to the council. In the deepest chambers of Fold, ancient crystals still burn with the combined wisdom of gods who dared to see beyond traditional limitations, and Aergerus maintains his watch there, preserving knowledge that bridges the gap between divine flame and mortal magic.
We forge as Aejeon first taught us, with pure flame and honest purpose. Each hammer strike is a prayer, each quench a remembrance. The Black Fire took our god, but it cannot take our craft.
In the forges of Malondria, ancient anvils still bear Aejeon's mark. Aergerus has maintained many of the old forge-blessing rituals, though modified to draw power from white fire rather than the original divine flame. Master smiths still whisper Aejeon's name before beginning important works, though they are careful to invoke only his aspects as teacher and creator, not the aspects that led to corruption and destruction.
The Chronographers' Theories
The Resonance Mystics of the Sunlit Spire claim that Aejeon's final calculations are somehow encoded in the Spire's structure. They believe that Thianon's weapon, being made of Sanulium, captured and preserved some echo of Aejeon's imprisonment. Their meditation chambers are said to sometimes fill with floating mathematical symbols similar to those found in the Desert of Proofs—equations that describe possibilities rather than actualities, potential endings that have not yet come to pass.
The most controversial aspect of Aejeon's legacy is found among the Chronographers of the Spire, who claim that his final calculations describe fundamental instabilities woven into creation's fabric—weaknesses that were always present but remained invisible until his equations revealed them. They point to inconsistencies in historical records as evidence that Aejeon's mathematics proved certain events could have unfolded in multiple ways, with the current chronicle being merely one possibility among many. Aergerus has neither confirmed nor denied these theories, though such claims would explain certain contradictions in the chronicles of the Black Fire Wars.
Each year, when Ganur and Grano align above the Spire, the Sanulium sings with equations. The miners say Aejeon is still trying to warn us, but his messages are fractured across countless possibilities.
The Path of Proofs
In the Burning Wastes, nomadic tribes still follow the Path of Proofs—a complex series of mathematical patterns Aejeon walked in his final years. They believe these paths hold some fundamental truth about existence, though they are careful never to try solving the equations for themselves. Aergerus maintains distant contact with these tribes, monitoring their practices while ensuring they don't stray too close to dangerous knowledge.
The most closely guarded secret of Aejeon's legacy lies in the sealed vaults beneath the White Flame Temples. Here, Aergerus keeps a collection of artifacts from Aejeon's early experiments—tools and texts from before the corruption. These are studied under strict supervision, as even Aejeon's purest works are now viewed through the lens of what they would eventually become. The line distinguishing divine inspiration from corrupted ambition proved too thin in Aejeon's case; his successors are determined not to make the same mistake.
We honor what he was, learn from what he became, and pray we have the wisdom to tell the difference.
Reflection: Fire's Tragedy
The story of Aejeon is the story of potential perverted, of gifts transformed into curses, of love corrupted into instruments of destruction. He emerged from the Primordial Age with brilliance that illuminated the void, passion that drove creation forward, power that shaped realms and kindled the fires at the world's heart. He was essential to the cosmic order, indispensable to the work of creation, beloved by siblings and worshippers alike.
Yet the same qualities that made him great made him vulnerable. His passion could not be tempered by patience. His brilliance outpaced his wisdom. His ambition exceeded his understanding of consequences. And when corruption came—when his own son guided him toward darkness while wearing the mask of filial devotion—he lacked the restraint that might have recognized danger before it became catastrophe.
The primordial brotherhood he shared with Aranon stands as the tragedy's deepest wound. They had worked together in ages before measurement began, complementary forces that created what neither could achieve alone. But complementarity requires balance, and balance requires each party to accept the other's nature. Aejeon could never accept Aranon's patience; Aranon could never fully understand Aejeon's passion. When crisis came, the bond that should have provided strength instead became another casualty of the Black Fire's corruption.
In the end, Aejeon became what he had always feared—fire without purpose, transformation without direction, passion serving destruction rather than creation. His death at his son's hands, the consumption of his essence to fuel Te Nesavatar's emergence, represents the final perversion of everything he had once represented. The god who taught mortals to forge and to warm and to illuminate became fuel for a being whose only purpose was to unmake everything that existed.
Yet even in this darkness, traces of what Aejeon had been persist. The forges still burn. The craftsmen still pray. The Kiln Winds still carry echoes of his sacred breath, though now cleansed of the corruption that once poisoned them. The equations he left behind, terrible as they are, describe not just endings but the principles that make existence possible. Fire's nature is transformation, and transformation need not serve only destruction. This truth, which Aejeon understood before corruption claimed him, remains his most important legacy—the hope that fire might yet be reclaimed, that passion might yet serve creation, that the god who fell might somehow be redeemed through the proper use of what he left behind.
Before the void consumed his light,
He kindled stars and warmed the cold,
His flames were pure, his purpose bold.
The primordial chaos knew his name,
The fourth to rise, the lord of flame.
With Aranon he shaped the world,
Their brotherhood through ages unfurled.
But passion burns what patience builds,
And ambition takes what wisdom wills.
His son's corruption, masked as love,
Pushed him toward what he dreamed of.
The Black Fire rose from noble aim,
Perfection sought through purging flame.
But purity became the void,
And all he built was thus destroyed.
Now in the wastes his equations sleep,
And glass still holds the truths they keep.
The forges burn, the smiths still pray,
Remembering a brighter day.
Fire's tragedy, fire's shame,
A god consumed by his own flame.
Yet in the temples, white fire gleams—
Perhaps redemption lives in dreams.
Relationships
Te Vevutur — Father/Creator — The Giver of Names who shaped Aejeon from primordial chaos and imparted the principles that should have governed fire's role in creation. Aejeon's fall represents the failure of everything Te Vevutur had tried to teach him.
Aranon — Brother — The firstborn of the Ayn Auline, High God of Earth, whose patience complemented Aejeon's passion during the Primordial Age. Their brotherhood shattered when Aejeon stole portions of Aranon's essence during the First Black Fire War—a violation that neither could ever forgive or forget.
Daeranon — Brother — High God of Water, whose elemental nature stood in natural opposition to fire. Their relationship required careful management, though they found productive harmony during the golden ages. The Black Fire's corruption of Marenwë's waters drove an irreconcilable wedge between their houses.
Phin-Mahr — Brother — High God of Air, arbiter of wisdom and understanding. The winds of Gerlandria shared affinity with fire, as air feeds flame, creating potential for alliance that the Age of Shrines would corrupt.
Thianon — Brother — High God of Light, whose emergence introduced illumination that rivaled fire's brilliance. Thianon's death at Malovatar's hands during the Siege of the Sun marked the destruction of cosmic balance that Aejeon's creations had initiated.
Anvirthiel — Wife — The Phoenix of Fire, whose union with Aejeon marked the zenith of his joy. Their love was genuine, their harmony productive, their partnership essential to both their natures. Her death during the First Black Fire War, slain by Lavos, was among the tragedies his corruption produced.
Malovatar (Te Nesavatar) — Son — The child Aejeon doted upon, taught all his secrets to, and trusted completely. Malovatar's corruption and manipulation of his father represents the deepest betrayal in divine history, culminating in the son consuming the father's essence to become the Bringer of Death.
Aergerus — Grandson — Champion of the Galavesine orthodoxy, who led the White Fire Elves in rebellion against the corruption. Now serves as High God of Fire's legitimate realms, maintaining the sacred traditions while rejecting the darkness that consumed his grandfather.
The Air Eaters — Creations/Servants — Altabar, Anvirthiel, Draleba, and Lavos, created by Aejeon to maintain balance between fire and air. Their corruption and fall during the Black Fire Wars demonstrated how completely his work had been perverted.
Article Categorization
This article is categorized as: Character ➜ Deity
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