II. Eternal Arc

A Divine Struggle

Above the mortal realms, where winds whispered secrets to the stars, the Eterna Citadel drifted—an unyielding monument created by Marael and Anias. In this celestial authority, the gods observed as life blossomed and evolved below for millions of years.

Marael - The Celestial Firstborn, ever the gatekeeper of balance, took on the role of a cold and impartial observer. When natural catastrophes threatened to destroy the world, he intervened to restore balance, but he never interfered in the destinies of mortals. To him, their triumphs and failures were part of the natural order. He defended the lands but never the lives upon them, ensuring the cycle of existence remained unbroken.

Anias - The Eternal Light, however, could not share his detachment. From the Citadel, she watched mortals with an unshakable fascination. She saw what Marael did not—the beauty in their fleeting lives, the rawness of their emotions, and the courage in their struggles. While Marael spoke of their flaws—their wars, greed, and betrayals—Anias saw their love, their resilience, and their capacity for growth. Where Marael saw chaos, Anias saw potential.

"They are driven by fear of the unknown," she often argued. "If we extend our hands, if we ease their burdens, they could find peace and harmony." But Marael’s reply was always the same. "You see their dreams, Anias, but I see their hearts. Their greed will consume your gifts. Their ambition will destroy them—and us." Anias could not be swayed. Against Marael’s will, she began secretly descending to the mortal realm. Disguising her celestial essence, she walked among humans. She healed the sick, fed the starving, and whispered knowledge that changed lives. Each act of kindness was small, but its impact rippled through communities. Yet, even Anias did not give without measure. Her aid came with lessons, urging mortals to use her gifts wisely.

When Marael discovered her transgressions, his fury was unrelenting. "You risk the divine life for their fleeting lives," he declared, his voice cold and heavy like a gathering storm. "Do you not see their hearts? Their greed? Give them an ember of divine knowledge, and they will forge it into a weapon—to destroy themselves and us." Anias, relentless, met his gaze. "Is their greed what you fear, or their potential? I see mortals for what they could be, not what they are. If we do nothing, if we stand apart, they will never rise beyond their flaws." Their conflict was not a single moment but an eternity, spanning the lifetimes of countless mortals. Marael, ever the architect of order, could not accept Anias’s reckless empathy. Yet, for all his sternness, he loved her fiercely. That love, and the two children she bore him—Eria, their firstborn son, and Alassa, their luminous daughter, beings of immeasurable perfection and power—wove cracks in his resolve. It was Anias who saw the truth of their children: unchallenged and unchanging, they were destined for stagnation. They were gods, yes, but they were isolated—adrift in their perfection. “They know nothing of struggle,” she told Marael one night, her voice soft yet piercing. “Nothing of joy. They have eternity, but not life.” Her words hung in the air, and Marael’s silence was thunderous. Despite his anger, his love for Anias bound him. Her compassion was reckless, but it was also her greatest strength. Over time, Anias proposed an idea—a divine land where mortals could flourish under the guidance of the gods. "Let us create a land where aids are abundant, where aiding knowledge flows freely. Let us call it Arcania - The Land of Magic," she said. "With such blessings, there will be no wars, no greed, only peace and harmony." Marael’s stern resolve began to crack, but his acceptance came with a decree. "If mortals and gods are to unite, it will be on one unbreakable law. The Sacred Knowledge of the Divine Powers must remain unsharable. Mortals are not ready to wield it; their ambition will devour them. Should they betray this trust, I will bring ruin to what you are about to build." Anias agreed, and the gods descended into the mortal realms, taking forms from those they sought to guide. They lived and walked among mortals, teaching, guiding, and learning. It was a fragile balance—a world where gods and mortals coexisted as equals. Or so it seemed. Marael rarely visited the mortal realms. From the Eterna Citadel, he observed, he saw the beauty in what Anias had built but felt the tremors of inevitable betrayal. His words echoed through the heavens: “You ask me to trust the storm, Anias. But storms do not yield—they break.” Therefore, the Golden Arc began—a fragile balance born of love, ambition, and mistrust. In the hearts of mortals, hope flickered, but in the soul of Marael, a question burned: Was peace truly possible, or was it the first step toward annihilation?