The Athai

It is said that in the beginning, the Athai, supreme Lord of Creation, fashioned the world from His flesh. His bones, plucked from His holy side, served as the scaffold, and His flesh, cloven from His middle, formed the earth that gave substance to the world. His blood, of purest radiant gold poured forth from His holy wounds to water the world that He had made. The few droplets which did not soak into the dirt, but instead pooled on the surface of the Athai's bones, soon birthed the first of the Athai's creations: the Athainokiepheloi. The Divine Golden-Winged Ones.   Ill-suited to the earth, which would damage their wings of delicate golden filigree and fascinated by the bones upon which they had been born, the Athainokiepheloi burrowed into the Athai's bones and there made their hives. They fed upon the Athai's holy marrow, which made them grow strong and numerous, and from this marrow they produced a sweet golden honey that overflowed their hives and ran across the surface of the earth in such great volume that they carved rivers, lakes, and endless oceans.   In the lands nourished by the Kiepheloi's honey, life flourished. Endless fields of golden grain, and golden-boughed forests laden with the sweetest of fruits stretched on to the horizon. From the nourished earth sprang the second of the Athai's creations: the Kiedorus. The Golden-Browed Ones. They would tend to the gardens that the Kiepheloi created. They would eat of the bountiful grains and fruits. They would drink honey from the endless rivers. And for a time, the world was at peace.   Born from the earth and fed with the Athai's marrow, the Kiedorus inherited a fraction of the Athai's power. They learned how to make things with their own hands. They fashioned tools and earthworks, bringing order to the natural chaos of the Kiepheloi's gardens. They built homes and monuments. And with every lesson learned, every project completed, they gained mastery over their abilities, and in time, they grew their ambitions.   Seeking to emulate their Lord and Father, the Kiedorus learned to create life from their flesh. Thus were born the Kiethorai. The Golden-Skinned ones. They were fashioned in the image of their eager parents, who vied for the Athai's favor and acknowledgment with increasing fervor. More and more of the Kiethorai were born, each Kiedorus hoping to outshine their kin, and more and more acrimonious grew the rivalries.   Soon, the Kiedorus learned that creation came with a darker side: destruction. And when the first of the Kiethorai were slain, never to return, it did not take long for a second to follow. And so was begat the Gilom, the Great Spirit of War. In his shadow, the golden gardens of the Kiepheloi were laid to waste, and the rivers of honey were made to run dry.   By the time that the Athai took notice of the chaos, so many of the Kiethorai had died that their golden bodies covered the trampled earth, and He was overcome with grief. The Athai wept for endless days and endless nights, his tears drowning the world in sorrow. When at last the mourning ceased, all creation was greatly diminished.   All that remained were a few Kiepheloi, for their kind had died in droves, their hives drowned under an ocean of tears. The Kiedorus had been reduced to a handful—the precious few who rejected the Gilom's clarion call—as those who had vainly continued their battles even as the world drowned had been swept away in a tide of anguish. The dead Kiethorai remained, though the flood had washed away their gold, leaving behind only bodies the color of earth.   The last of the survivors was the Gilom. It had grown powerful in the time of the Athai's lapse. Too powerful. And so, to prevent the world's total destruction, the Athai chose to seal the Gilom away. To split its essence into innumerable pieces such that it would never be able to grow so powerful again. The Athai gathered His divine tears and distilled the Gilom's power into the radiant waters. The spirit's wroth stained the tears crimson, and dulled their shining light. Then the Athai instilled a tiny portion of the Gilom's dissolved essence into each of the fallen Kiethorai, bringing them back as living seals that would forever contain the Gilom within themselves.   Thus were born the Arethorai, the mortals, who bled the crimson-red of the Athai's war-tainted tears. And so, heartbroken, the Athai left the world to the surviving Kiedorus. He tasked them with guiding and nurturing the Arethorai and watching over the Kiepheloi as they slowly recovered their numbers. Then the Athai departed for realms unknown, leaving behind only a promise that one day, when all war has ceased, and the golden gardens of the Kiepheloi stretch once more from horizon to horizon, He would return to reward all Creation.