The passing of time did not bring ruin, nor did it erase the memories of the garden. It had been one thousand two hundred and fifty years since Ashel and Elaira had stepped beyond the gates of Varethiel, yet their hearts never forgot.
Though the world beyond the garden was harsh and untamed, they endured. They built shelter from the stone, warmed their nights with fire, and cultivated the land to provide for their needs. They learned the ways of the beasts, the patterns of the stars, and the rhythm of the changing seasons.
But above all, they were blessed with children.
The Birth of the Eight
Elaira bore seven sons and daughters, each strong, each wise, each bearing the mark of their parents' spirit. They were the foundation of a people, the first kindred to walk the land beyond Eden.
And among the many years that followed, these children found love in one another—for they were all that remained of their kind. The sons and daughters of Ashel and Elaira became husbands and wives, binding themselves in union as the world continued to grow around them.
Their love bore grandchildren, and from them came many more, until the land was no longer empty.
The rivers that once whispered only to the wind now carried the voices of men and women.
The valleys that once stood silent now echoed with the laughter of children.
The world was no longer a place of solitude.
It was a home.
The Passing of Time
Decades turned to centuries. The children of Ashel and Elaira became fathers and mothers, then grandfathers and grandmothers. Generations came and went, yet Ashel and Elaira remained, never aging, never faltering.
They watched their children's children flourish. They saw cities rise from the earth, saw fields of golden grain stretch beyond the horizon. They witnessed their people create songs, carve stone, and shape the land into something new.
But time could not be held back forever.
Forty more years passed.
And on the dawn of the 1,290th year, the breath of life finally left them.
The Mourning of the First
The earth trembled with sorrow.
Their children gathered from every corner of the land, weeping for the passing of the First.
Fathers bowed their heads in grief. Mothers held their children close. Even the wind seemed to carry their sorrow, whispering the names of the ones who had come before them.
But then—
A voice.
"Ashel, my first creation, and Elaira, the mother of all children, you have seen and witnessed. You lived happily with your children until the day you have to leave from their side."
The air was still.
The tears of their children did not cease, yet their sorrow was met with something greater—something eternal.
The Architect spoke once more.
"Rest now, to your home, the garden that you wish to be once again."
A light filled the sky.
And as the world mourned their passing, Ashel and Elaira returned home.
Years had passed since the departure of Ashel and Elaira, yet their presence remained in the hearts of their children. They were the First, the ones who had walked alongside the Architect, the ones who had witnessed the birth of the world. Their wisdom had guided their people, their love had nurtured them, and their names had become sacred.
But the world was vast, and the children of the First had multiplied beyond measure.
Their settlements grew, their flocks and herds swelled, and the land they called home could no longer hold them all.
Thus, a meeting was called—a gathering of all the sons and daughters of Ashel and Elaira, along with their people. Beneath the open sky, where the stars bore witness, they stood together as one for the last time.
They spoke of the land, of its bounty, of its limits. They spoke of their fathers and mothers, of the future that lay before them. They spoke of their children, who would need space to grow, to thrive, to make their own destinies.
And so, they made their decision.
They would part ways.
Each family, each lineage, would take their flocks, their tools, and all that they owned, and they would set forth in different directions, seeking new lands to call their own.
The brothers and sisters embraced, knowing they may never stand together again as one.
And when the sun rose, they departed.
Some journeyed north, where the cold winds carried the scent of untouched mountains and endless forests.
Some ventured west, following the setting sun toward rolling plains and vast lakes.
Others made their way east, where the rivers ran strong, carving valleys into the land.
And the rest turned south, into the warm embrace of fertile lands and golden fields.
Though they split apart, they remained as one in spirit.
They carried with them the wisdom of their father, the kindness of their mother.
They still spoke one common tongue, the language of the First, and even across great distances, they understood one another.
And in honor of those who had come before, they named their tribes after Ashel and Elaira, so that their names would never be forgotten.
Thus, the children of the First became the founders of nations, the bearers of a new age.
Though they walked different paths, though time would shape them into different peoples, they would always share one origin, one blood, one name.
The parting of Ashel and Elaira's children was not an end, but the beginning of something far greater. As they journeyed across the vast lands, their tribes grew distinct, shaped by the lands they chose and the trials they endured. Yet, in their hearts, they remained one—descendants of the First.
Their journeys were not without hardship.
The northern tribes braved the bitter cold, carving homes from the mountains and taming the beasts that roamed the frozen wastes. They learned the ways of steel and stone, building strongholds that would endure for generations.
The western tribes wandered the vast plains and settled along the great lakes, becoming hunters, fishers, and gatherers. They mastered the winds, guiding their boats across endless waters, seeking what lay beyond the horizon.
The eastern tribes followed the mighty rivers, establishing their homes in fertile valleys. They became skilled in agriculture, shaping the land with irrigation and building great settlements along the flowing waters.
The southern tribes thrived in lands of warmth and golden fields, where the earth was rich and the harvests plentiful. They raised great herds, perfected their craft, and built great halls where wisdom was passed down through generations.
Despite their distances, they never forgot their origin.
They still spoke the same tongue, still called upon the memory of Ashel and Elaira. Though their customs and ways of life grew different, when they met, they greeted one another as brothers and sisters.
Their lands became kingdoms, their families became dynasties, and their people multiplied beyond counting.
The First Tribes had now become the First Nations.
Yet, even as they flourished, the world was ever-changing.
And the days of unity would not last forever.
For many years, the First Nations lived in harmony. They honored their ancestors, preserved the language of the First, and welcomed one another as kin when their paths crossed. Trade flourished between them—furs from the north, grains from the south, fish from the west, and precious stones from the east. Their lands, though vast, were still connected by their shared bloodline.
But as the generations passed, the ties that bound them began to fray.
The first seeds of discord were sown when land and resources became scarce in certain regions.
The northern tribes, hardened by the cold, ventured further south in search of better hunting grounds. But there, they met resistance from the western and southern tribes, who had long claimed those lands as their own.
The eastern tribes, once prosperous along their rivers, found themselves expanding beyond their borders, leading to clashes over territory.
The western tribes, once seafarers and traders, sought more control over the lakes and rivers, demanding tribute from those who wished to pass through their waters.
At first, these disputes were settled through words. Meetings were held, envoys were sent, and compromises were made. But as more generations passed, the memory of the First grew distant, and with it, the unity they once shared.
Greed and pride took root.
A chieftain of the northern tribes claimed that his people had more right to the land than those who lived in warmth. A ruler of the west declared that all waters belonged to those who sailed them. A lord of the east sought to expand his dominion, believing his people to be the rightful rulers of all fertile lands.
The southern tribes, once the most peaceful, were caught between these growing tensions, forced to either defend themselves or submit.
No war had yet begun, but the whispers of conflict were growing louder.
The First Nations still shared one language, one bloodline, yet in their hearts, they were no longer one.
They had set out to build their own lands, their own tribes.
Now, they had begun to see themselves as something else.
Not one people, but many.
And so, the days of peace began to crumble.
As the First Nations spread across the land, their customs and ways of life grew more distinct. The elders still remembered the days when all were one, but the younger generations saw themselves as separate people, rulers of their own lands.
Yet, despite their growing differences, there was still peace.
They continued to trade, to visit one another, and to share the language of the First. But as the years passed, conflicts became more frequent. What once were mere disputes over land and resources grew into something far deeper.
The northern tribes, known for their resilience in the harshest of climates, believed that the others had grown weak in their comforts. They saw their struggles against the elements as proof of their strength and began to look upon the southern and eastern tribes with contempt.
The western tribes, masters of the rivers and lakes, sought to control the waters that connected their lands. They demanded tribute from those who wished to pass, claiming that the rivers were theirs by right.
The eastern tribes, whose cities had grown vast and prosperous, began to see themselves as the chosen rulers of the land. They believed that their wisdom and advancements set them apart, that they were meant to guide the others.
The southern tribes, once the most peaceful, found themselves caught between these growing powers. They sought to preserve the harmony of the past, but their words fell upon deaf ears.
Then came the first battles.
At first, they were small skirmishes—raids on livestock, disputes over borders. But soon, blood was spilled. Tribes that once called each other kin now raised their weapons against one another.
And for the first time since the birth of the First, the land was divided not just by distance, but by war.
The elders still spoke of Ashel and Elaira, reminding their people that they were one blood. They gathered the leaders of the tribes and pleaded for peace.
"Have you forgotten the words of the Architect?" they asked. "Have you forgotten that we are all children of the First?"
But the young no longer listened.
"That time has passed," said the rulers of the east. "We are no longer one people. Each of us has carved our own kingdom, built our own way of life. The past belongs to the elders, but the future belongs to us."
"The land is not enough," said the rulers of the north. "If we do not fight for more, we will be left with nothing."
"The waters are ours to command," said the rulers of the west. "Without them, none of you would survive."
"We only wish to live in peace," said the rulers of the south. "But peace cannot exist when greed rules the hearts of men."
And so, the final bonds that once held them together began to break.
Each tribe saw itself as a nation of its own, no longer bound by the unity of the past. Though they still spoke the same language, their hearts no longer understood one another.
And so, the world continued toward its greatest turning point.
The day when the tongues of men would be divided.
And when the Tower of the East would rise.