The Veil of Creation

The All-Father, in his wisdom, fashioned a sanctuary in the heavens—a radiant abode from which he could watch his children and grandchildren walk among the humans. There he dwelled, contemplating the harmony of creation.

Humankind, bearing the spark of their creators, were eternal as their makers. They lived, multiplied, and created wonders, their radiance growing ever brighter.

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Yet, over the ages, a strange stirring awoke within Desire. Whenever it beheld Love walking among the humans, there was a peculiar glimmer in their eyes—a light that mirrored Love's essence. Desire, in its boundless nature, yearned for that light to be turned upon itself, that humans might feel the same toward it.

This yearning grew, and from it, a shadow was born, unbidden and unnoticed: Envy.

Envy was unlike its elder siblings. It was a being of subtlety and shadow, ethereal and unseen. Knowing its nature to be unwelcome, it hid itself, veiling its presence even from the All-Father.

Yet Envy, though hidden, could not deny its nature. It whispered into the hearts of humankind, sowing discontent and longing for that which was not theirs. Humans, once content in their divine spark, began to crave more. They desired to be as their creators, to rise above their station, and to claim for themselves the power of the All-Father and his children.

And so it came to pass that humanity, consumed by Envy's whispers, rose in rebellion against their makers. They defied their creators, seeking to usurp the heavens themselves.

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The All-Father, beholding the rebellion of humankind, felt a new stirring within its boundless essence. Unlike the warm yearning of creation, this was a cold and consuming force—a shadowed reflection of Desire. It was a force of destruction.

In its grief and wrath, the All-Father stretched forth its hand, and with a single word, the humans were unmade. Their cities crumbled, their works turned to dust, and their light was snuffed out.

And thus, was born the third emotion, and the third child of the Soul: Anger.

Anger stood beside the All-Father, its presence fierce and unyielding. It spake not, yet its very being carried the weight of destruction. The creators, once radiant with the joy of creation, now stood in the shadow of loss.

Yet the All-Father, though grieved, did not despair. "From the ashes of this folly," spake the All-Father, "shall we learn. For even destruction hath its place in the balance of creation." …

"What the heck is that? Where did you find that book, Tyrese?" asked a girl with black hair that fell in loose curls around her shoulders, her striking blue eyes narrowing as they fixed on the worn, ancient tome in his hands. Her brown skin seemed to glow faintly under the pale light of the flickering sigil lamp hanging from the low ceiling of Tyrese's modest home.

The room was small and unadorned. A single bed was tucked against one corner, its blanket neatly folded. To the left, a humble kitchen with a stone stove graved with sigil symbols and wooden shelves held a few pots and utensils. A small doorway led to a cramped sanitary chamber. The air carried the faint smell of herbs drying above the stove.

Tyrese, a boy who looked no older than sixteen, straightened his back, his expression triumphant. He ran a hand through his short, curly hair and held the book aloft as though it were a trophy. "I found it in the Lost Sanctuary," he declared. "I think it's a relic from the past."

Maha's eyes widened in disbelief, and she took a cautious step back. "I must have misheard you," she said slowly, her voice trembling. "Did you just say the Lost Sanctuary? The same sanctuary that's said to be cursed? The one from which people never return sane?"

"Yeah, that one." Tyrese grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "It wasn't as bad as the stories make it out to be. I have my ways, Maha. And those so-called curses? Just rumors to scare off the weak-hearted.

Maha stared at him, her astonishment quickly giving way to frustration. "Are you insane? Do you have any idea how dangerous that place is? And you brought something back from there?"

"Relax," Tyrese said, waving a hand dismissively. "The place was practically deserted, and this book—it's incredible. Just look at it." He turned the leather-bound tome so she could see its cracked spine and faded gold lettering. "It's old, older than anything we've been taught. The writing inside is barely legible, but from what I just read, it talks about creation, about gods..."

"That's obviously blasphemy," Maha snapped, cutting him off. Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper as she leaned closer. "That book must have been written by someone from the old cult. Everyone knows it was the God of Light who created us and shared his knowledge with humankind. At least, that's what the Church of Light teaches."

Tyrese smirked. "Exactly. That's what they teach. But what if they're wrong? What if this book tells a different truth?"

"Stop," Maha hissed, her face flushing with anger and fear. She glanced around nervously, as if expecting a Church Sentinel to appear from the shadows. "Tyrese, you're playing with fire. If anyone catches you with this, you could be executed for blasphemy. Do you understand that?"

Tyrese shrugged, unconcerned. "They'd have to catch me first. Besides, isn't it worth asking the question? Why would they be so afraid of this knowledge if it wasn't dangerous to their lies?"

Maha opened her mouth to argue but closed it again, shaking her head. "You're impossible." She turned away, but then hesitated, torn between curiosity and fear. Her fingers twitched as though tempted to snatch the book from him, but she thought better of it. "I don't want anything to do with this," she said finally. "Anyway, I have to go. We've got training tomorrow, and you should get some rest." She glared at him, her voice hardening. "And get rid of that book, Tyrese. Burn it, bury it, I don't care. Just don't let anyone else see it."

She spun on her heel and began to walk away, her steps quick and purposeful.

"Maha," Tyrese called after her, his voice softer now.

She paused but didn't turn around.

"What if the God of Light isn't the only god?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Maha's shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, she said nothing. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet and pained. "Then I guess we've all been living a lie."

With that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Tyrese alone with the forbidden tome and the questions it carried.

He glanced down at the book, its pages glowing faintly under the light of the sigil lamp. Tyrese couldn't help but wonder—what knowledge had been lost, and why was it so dangerous?