The newborn world of Elirion hummed with fragile life. Mountains carved themselves from the void, rivers sang their first ancient songs, and skies stretched wide, painted with the breath of creation itself. But beneath this beauty, a storm brewed—shards of the old pantheon, fractured remnants of gods long broken, stirred and gathered, drawn by the pulse of rebirth.
Threnos, the embodiment of decay, emerged first. His cracked visage was a cruel mosaic of rot and ruin. Wherever he passed, the ground withered and blackened, flowers curling into dust beneath his presence. "I am the end and the rebirth that follows," he proclaimed, voice a low rumble like bones grinding in a tomb. "Without me, all life is meaningless."
Irevia, eyes aflame with wrathful fire, stepped forward, her presence scorching the very air. "False hope breeds weakness. I will cleanse Elirion with fire, purging it of illusions and lies. Only the strong shall survive."
