The world was no longer as it had been.
Once, the children of Ashel and Elaira had spoken with one tongue, bound together as one people beneath the heavens. But now, they were divided. Their words had turned into strangers, their voices unfamiliar even to their own kin.
Some wept for what was lost, remembering the days when all understood one another. Others embraced the change, seeing in it a new path, a new fate beyond the ruins of Vareth-Illai.
Yet even in their confusion, a remnant of their old unity remained.
For though their tongues had been scattered, the words carved upon the stones endured.
The language of their ancestors—inscribed in rock, etched into walls, marked upon tablets of clay—remained unchanged. And so, those who could no longer speak as one could still read as one.
It was by these written words that the elders gathered their people and made their choices.
Some among them refused to abandon the lands of their forefathers, even though they no longer understood their neighbors. They clung to their ancient homes, remaining in the four great directions where their fathers had once dwelled. Though they no longer spoke alike, they read the same words, carved the same symbols, and held to the ways of their ancestors. These would become the first nations—not divided by tongue alone, but by the lands they called home.
But others—those who sought new beginnings—set forth upon unknown paths.
Some went deeper into the continent, seeking rivers, valleys, and mountains where they could build anew.
Others turned toward the sea.
For the first time in their history, men crafted great vessels—not only to fish the waters but to cross them. They set their eyes beyond the horizon, toward lands unseen.
And so, with their families, their livestock, and their belongings, they sailed.
Many found new shores, great islands rising from the waves, where the land was rich and the soil was fertile. There, they planted their crops, built their homes, and called these new lands their own.
These became the first seafarers, the first island-dwellers, the first to know the vastness of the world beyond the land of their fathers.
And though their languages were different, and though their paths had diverged, one truth remained.
They all came from the same beginning.
The names of Ashel and Elaira were still spoken, remembered in stories passed from generation to generation. Their names became legend, their deeds became myth, and their people became many.
Thus, the first great scattering of the world came to pass.
No longer were they merely the children of Ashel and Elaira.
They were the nations of the earth.
And their true histories had only just begun.
A thousand years had passed since the fall of Vareth-Illai and the scattering of tongues. The world had changed, shaped by the hands of those who once dwelled under a single banner but now walked separate paths.
Nations had risen from the dust of wandering tribes. Walls were built where once there had been tents. Kings sat upon thrones where once only elders had gathered.
And in these nations, there were those who sought to teach.
In a school of stone and wood, a teacher stood before a group of children, scratching symbols upon a slab of clay. The air smelled of ink, oil lamps flickered against the earthen walls, and eager young eyes watched as he carved the past into words.
Teacher: "Listen, children. This is the tale of our fathers, of the days before we were nations. Before we had kings, before we had cities, we were one. But in their pride, they built a tower to the heavens, and the Architect, in His wisdom, scattered their tongues. That is why our words are not as the words of those beyond the mountains, or across the great sea."
A young boy raised his hand, furrowing his brow.
Boy: "But Master, if we were scattered, how do we now understand what is written? Our words are not like the others, but we can still read the same stories."
The teacher smiled, nodding as he pressed his reed into the clay.
Teacher: "Because though our tongues were taken, our hands still remembered. Our fathers carved their words into stone, into wood, into the walls of their homes, so their children would not forget. And so we teach you now, that you may teach your children, and they may teach theirs."
The children whispered among themselves, tracing the symbols with their fingers, shaping the words as their ancestors had done before them.
Far beyond the school, in the heart of the city, the sound of hammers striking stone filled the air.
Men labored under the sun, raising great walls to protect their people. Wooden beams were lifted, bricks were laid, and towering gates were constructed to stand against the winds of time.
Near the city square, a group of builders gathered around a simple sketch drawn upon the ground.
Architect: "The king has spoken. This shall be the foundation of our temple, where the people may gather in worship. We will use stone from the mountains and wood from the great forests. Let every man take up his tools, for we build not just for ourselves, but for those who will come after us."
A mason wiped the sweat from his brow, examining the lines drawn before him.
Mason: "And what of the homes? Our people grow in number, yet the city is still small. We must expand before the winter comes."
An elder among them, his hands calloused from years of labor, nodded.
Elder: "Then let us teach the younger ones, as our fathers taught us. Let every boy who can lift a hammer learn to shape wood. Let every man who can hold a chisel carve stone. We were once wanderers, but we are no longer. This land is ours, and we shall make it strong."
And so, as the sun set behind the hills, the city stood taller than it had the day before.
Fires were lit, warming homes made not of cloth and sticks, but of stone and clay.
Children read the words of their ancestors, and their fathers built the walls that would protect them.
The nations had been born.
And they were only just beginning.
Generations passed like leaves carried by the wind. With each passing century, the nations grew in wisdom and skill. They had once been wanderers, building with their bare hands, but now they were craftsmen, farmers, and smiths.
The world had entered the Ages of Labor, where men tamed the land and shaped it to their will.
The Age of the Fields
In the lands of Aurelith, where the rivers ran deep and the soil was rich, the people turned their hands to the earth.
Farmers who once scattered seeds by hand now plowed the fields with oxen. They built channels to bring water from the rivers, feeding their crops even in times of drought.
An elder stood among the golden fields, his staff in hand, watching as the younger men toiled under the sun.
Elder: "Long ago, we wandered, plucking food from the wild, but now, the land bends to our will. See how the wheat rises, how the barley sways in the wind. This is the labor of our hands, and it will feed our children for generations to come."
A young farmer wiped the sweat from his brow and looked toward the horizon.
Young Farmer: "But Elder, the land is vast. How will we ever plant enough for all our people?"
The Elder smiled, motioning to a group of men assembling a wooden contraption.
Elder: "We no longer sow only by hand. We have built plows to carve the soil, mills to grind the grain, and granaries to store the harvest. Where once we worked alone, now we work together."
The young man nodded, determination lighting his face as he took up his plow, knowing that his labor would bring forth life.
The Age of the Forge
In the lands of Dravaryn, where the mountains stretched like the spines of giants, the blacksmiths shaped the bones of the earth.
Men who had once struck flint against stone now worked iron in roaring forges.
A blacksmith stood before his apprentices, the heat of the fire painting his face in shades of gold and crimson. He held up a newly forged blade, its edge gleaming in the torchlight.
Blacksmith: "Once, our fathers fought with sticks and sharpened stone. But iron does not break like bone, nor wear like wood. With this, a man may defend his home, and a hunter may strike down the beasts of the wild."
One of the apprentices, a boy with soot-streaked cheeks, stepped forward.
Apprentice: "But Master, the metal is stubborn, and the fire is fierce. How do we tame it?"
The blacksmith laughed, pressing the blade into the boy's hands.
Blacksmith: "By patience, by strength, and by wisdom. Fire softens, the hammer shapes, and the water hardens. To forge is not to break, but to refine."
And so, the forges of Dravaryn roared through the ages, shaping the weapons and tools that would shape history.
The Age of the Mines
Beneath the mountains of Varduun, men carved deep into the darkness, seeking the treasures hidden beneath the earth.
Gold, silver, iron, and coal—gifts of the Architect buried in the depths of the world.
A miner stood at the mouth of a cavern, his lantern flickering against the walls of stone. Behind him, men and women toiled with pickaxes, their voices echoing in the dark.
Miner: "Look around you. These veins of metal are the lifeblood of our kingdom. With gold, we trade. With iron, we build. With coal, we burn the fires that keep our forges alive."
A younger miner, new to the trade, hesitated at the entrance.
Young Miner: "But the earth is deep, and the tunnels are dark. What if we are swallowed by them?"
The older miner placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
Miner: "Then we listen. The earth speaks, and we must learn its voice. We build beams to hold the weight, we carve paths to find the way, and we work together so that none are lost."
And so, the people of Varduun became masters of the depths, carving the bones of the earth and bringing its riches into the light.
The Age of the Builders
Across the lands, stone and wood rose into the sky.
Walls became fortresses, villages became cities, and the hands that once built only homes now shaped grand temples and mighty towers.
A builder stood atop a scaffold, overlooking the rising walls of a grand city.
Builder: "We were once wanderers, but now we have roots. The land is ours to shape, and this city shall stand long after we are gone."
Beside him, a stonemason ran his hands over the carved pillars, admiring their craftsmanship.
Stonemason: "Our fathers built with wood, but stone does not burn, nor does it rot. What we build today will be the foundation for those who come after us."
And so, the world was no longer a place of wanderers and tents, but of kingdoms and walls, of temples and towers.
The nations had entered an age of strength.
But in their strength, they had yet to learn wisdom.
The Architect watched, knowing that the trials of men had only just begun.