Chapter 1 – A Millennia of Peace

…among the various natives, the most problematic is humanity. They are as troublesome as dragons: the latter are deluded by their grandeur, the former are grandeurized by their delusions.

- Excerpt from the secrets texts in the White Pantheon’s closed library. Written by Goddess Hellenna, Of Love, and Goddess Fortia, of Peace: ‘How to Manage the Post-War World.’

Anastasija awoke in a lightless room. She felt energized for some reason. That was annoying, sleeping passed the time. The walls were of some dark stone, she knew that but the last time she had seen them was twelve hundred years ago. That was when she was locked in here. She chuckled, the darkness was quite comforting. The last time she had seen light, it was the blinding beams of that woman in the air. Was she dead now? Anastasija did not know. It annoyed her that she didn’t know, but then there was some satisfaction in that too. That woman was so irrelevant her name should not be known. It was beneath Anastasija to know.

There was no door, no crack, no sign of any joining. It was as if she was locked in the middle of a perfect solid cube. She sighed, stood up and started walking. Twenty steps, turn left, twenty steps, turn left and so it went. Eventually, she started laughing. Twelve hundred years? What did they expect? For her to knock on the walls? To cry in the corner? To lose her mind and sanity? The stars would burn out first. These rocks would crumble eventually, time destroyed all. She could simply bathe in her self-satisfaction until then; her knowledge that the best they could do against her was simply lock her away somewhere.

Gods appear when they’re needed and Gods disappear as they’re forgotten. The appearance of Ciria, of Civilization, in 721PGW (Post Great War) was the incarnation of philosophical achievements into what Civilization truly was and what it meant: Modern courts, various legalities, urban cities. It coincided with the White Pantheon’s decision to start acting as caretakers of the world, rather than its rulers. Ciria resides in Olympiada with the White Pantheon, although she is not officially admitted into the ancient’s courts.

Halkus, of Industry, appeared in 840PGW. Ciria and Halkus married a mere two years after his descent onto Arda. They were naturally drawn to each other like Zerus, of Lightning, and Sceo, of Sky. Ciria’s children will be covered in the later chapters. Our world, Arda, entered a golden age as the population quickly expanded. The last honourable conflict was fought in 821PGW, we can now say that the concept of ‘War’ has been relegated to history after today marks two hundred of unbroken peace, even if honourable conflicts were not wars in themselves.

The world has moved on. Although an author should never directly state their own opinions in their works, it is my belief that after more than a millennia, Arda has recovered from the Great War.

Extract from ‘Two Hundred Years of Peace.’ Written by Modern Historian Kimiko Arami.

Arascus roared in a rage as the skin over his knuckles regrew. He did not know how long he slept after his final moments in Rhomaion, but he had not closed his eyes for even a blink since then. He was locked in a cube of Godstone. A thousand years he gave himself: Today was the day. In a few hours, he would celebrate the thousandth anniversary of his awakening in this solid cage.

It was pitch black in here, he knew what Godstone was. He had built out of it before, it was unbreakable, it contained energy to surpass the Heavens. Even Leonifer and Mikanglo, rulers of Tartarus and Paraideisius would not break through it. But him? How could he not? He fist landed on the same spot again, his skin shattered, blood spilled over the room, his wrist exploded, his arm snapped at the shoulder. And again with the other arm. The same happened. With a roar, he smashed his head again that spot. His skull broke, his eyes went dull, his heart stopped, he fell backwards like a tree hit by a tidal wave.

Over the next minute, the blood in the room slowly return to him as if dragged by magnets to his body. The shards of ivory bone rebuilt themselves, even the cracks disappearing. His muscle grew, his eyes regained their sharpness. The blood started to flow within his body again. He stood up and flexed his fingers.

And then he did it again.

And again.

He tried it with magic at first, but his magic had started growing weaker after the first ten years. Now, he couldn’t even open a door to the Endless Treasury to pull out a blade. Had he grown weaker? He would never accept that.

A few hours passed. There wasn’t a single crack on the stone. The thousand year anniversary came, and he did not stop. If a thousand years wasn’t enough, then he would give it ten thousand. Allasaria and Zerus dared to lock him in a cage? He would show them how much their cages meant. Who were they to go up against Pride?

The advancement of philosophy has brought its own challenges. We now know that Gods are concepts birthed by the power of will, but what does mean?Etala, of Democracy, is much loved by us all. Although we don’t agree with them: The Epans love Gracia, of Monarchy, but who will say a kind word about Anarchia who wishes an end to our societies? The Gods are too powerful to simply be created at will by the minds of academics. The White Pantheon stepped down to let us rule ourselves, they realised their guidance brought stagnation and gave us freedom for us to strive to further heights. We should not let their kindness be our undoing.

We have seen the effects with the Godkiller, who ravaged half the nation in six months before he was brought down. That too was a mere construct of will. I dare not to give any ideas so I will not say them out loud, but what happens when academics think up of a threat unstoppable by us?

There is that, and there is the fact that we see what happens when we think ourselves into a hole. The phrase “All I know is that I know nothing” crippled the God of Knowledge. Now he truly knows nothing. I call upon our academia to cease these advancements into the study of thought. Continue down the sciences by all means but run experiments of materials and not of thoughts.

There is some knowledge which simply should not be known.

The ‘Knowledge that should not be known’ speech given by Union President Harold Edisford. Circa 915PGW.

Eventually, Arascus did stop. Not out of fatigue nor unwillingness, he was too prideful to admit those sensations into his body, but out of curiosity. The Godstone started to shake. What could make Godstone quiver and shake? He took a step back, crossed his arms and waited.

What it the apocalypse? Did some great beast come from the edges of the Universe to eat Arda? There was no force in his time that could do this. Maybe the White Pantheon had realised their mistake and come to beg for forgiveness, he chuckled at that thought.

The shaking lasted for an hour. A day. Two days. Arascus shrugged. An earthquake, that was probably it, or maybe there was some war raging above his prison. He returned to beating the Godstone wall. His arm exploded and the shaking stopped. He burst out in laughter. Maybe they were checking if he was still alive.

Fools. As long as a single being existed in this universe, there existed pride.

The rumbling started again. Arascus punched the wall, it did not stop this time.

The Creation of a New World Religion, emphasizing pride as a sin and humbleness as its primary virtue.A push to counter Arascus’ sick pride and replace it with a healthier version. The prime tenet of this is a pride with does not rely on humiliation as an evil.The spreading of this new pride and religion to every nation on Arda.Once a sufficient number of people have been converted. Open Arascus’ and his nameless sister’s prisons.Kill them.Reincarnate the Gods of Pride as a single being, with the title: of Serving Pride.The Arascus Extermination Plan, dated 1PGW.

Two months. It took two months of Arascus’ Godstone prison shaking from that outside force and his own force from the inside before he felt it as he fell backwards. His body regenerated once again, he stood up and ran his nail along the wall. Once, twice, thrice. A smile grew on his face.

He had done the impossible. Godstone was a material of magic, it should be able to regenerate itself endlessly as well as being harder than titanium. But there it was. The Godstone had a tiny crack running along it. He punched again with a strength redoubled. His arm exploded and he took a step back. The shaking had only grown in power. He took a step back again, now, the shaking was only growing stronger and stronger.

The Birth of Waeh, of Serving Pride, in 45PGW, was unexpected. We Gods had little rules to us, but the first was that only one God can exist for any one concept at any one time. It was impossible for Waeh to exist as long as Arascus and his nameless sister remained alive. So what happened? Did they die?

Ultimately, even we fear the release of that monster once again but Godstone was unbreakable. The White Pantheon as a whole would struggle to crack the seals on the surface of that primordial magic. Once it formed, it was as unbreakable as the rules binding us. There is no technology that can break it, nor any magic.

Ultimately, we decided to abandon the Arascus Extermination Plan and leave the two cubes untouched. There was no need to unearth forgotten corpses.

- Excerpt from the secrets texts in the White Pantheon’s closed library. Written by Goddess Allasaria, Of Light: Untitled.

Arascus strained his eyes and ears, he could see nothing in this pitch black darkness, but he did not want to miss a single moment of what was happening.Crack.There it was! He knew his mind was stable, that wasn’t a hallucination. There was another crack. And another. Another and another. He blinked for the first time in a millennia as he stood there.

The God of Pride was stunned.

A tiny beam of pale bright white light was beaming into the prison.