They say,
language is desire.
and a name,
is the first curse.
In this ancient realm, the source of all things,
the Golden God, Aurosin.
forged life and speech with breath,
and tempered dreams and thought with fire.
Until the tenth moonless night,
the Star-Thread descended upon the silent land.
And they knocked.
And so the Age of Humility began.
Seven nights passed; the broken of Boensia were reborn.
And the lives of Karos Stone City were set free.
The black moon became a whirl.
Every being on the golden land first dreamt of their whispers:
"You are incomplete, you are unclean,"
"the broken remnants of Aurosin's trial."
They were crowned New Gods, Dream-Bound, Eternals.
Beings began to fear and suspect one another.
Golden souls were cast aside,
life devoured and evolved against itself.
And the Golden God fell.
No safe place remains. The loathsome whirl has swallowed the golden land.
What they want, I know not — only that blood covers all.
Ten years on, I hide in an ancient sanctum of legend — the birthplace of the Golden God.
Here there is no time, and no taint.
The surviving few gather here, becoming the Hand of the Last Remnants.
We wager the scattered embers of gold, praying for a new champion.
May you enter the whirl,
may you seek the answer.
May you remain unbound by a name — body uncursed by any name.
Nameless One — awaken!
Seek them,
challenge them,
walk to the heart of the whirl!
