Before there were kings or courts, before even Dragons stretched their wings, there was only silence—a dreadful, aching silence. And if you know anything of bards, dear reader, you will recall Bardic Rule 3: silence is a void that must be filled. Fortunately for us all, something—someone—finally took the stage to fill that void.

Scholars call it the Age of Dawning, though truth be told, none of us truly remember it. No mortal voice sang in those days, no scribe recorded its hours. Even the gods themselves, when pressed on the matter, shuffle their feet and cough into their sleeves as though the memory were too vast or too strange to recount.

All life in Gaiaxia is bound by a current of Energy, infinite in scope, unknowable in depth. And from that infinite potential, a consciousness stirred—vast, formless, and everywhere at once. This was, and is, Ikozra, Keeper of Time and Knowledge. Though one should not mistake Ikozra for a god. It is not flesh. It cannot be touched, nor beheld, nor prayed to in any traditional sense. And yet, it is within all things and deemed us mortals worthy of such knowledge. Omniscient, yes; omnipresent, certainly; but not omnipotent. The more it created, the more of itself it gave away, each new spark of life carrying a shard of its infinite potential—now made finite, and free to act on its own. A generous gift, if you ask me—but a costly one.

In those first long years, Ikozra built the foundations of existence itself. First came Solis, our sun, blazing heart of all light and the future Realm of the gods. Then, the four great Elemental Realms, each vast enough to humble the imagination: Sumor, the burning Realm of molten rivers and towering volcanoes; Wintros, the seemingly endless ocean Realm hidden beneath a frozen sky of ice; Springelia, a Realm of impossibly vast mountain ranges and abyssal valleys; and finally, Autumnus, the realm of wind and storm, where clouds swirl beyond the eye’s horizon. In each of these Realms was born the first of the Elementals: Xolotl, primordial fire made flesh as a salamander the size of an island; Leviathan, the giant sea serpent coalesced from the endless waves of Wintros; Zaratan, mountains of stone made mobile atop the shell of an incomprehensibly massive tortoise; and Ventus, a colossal Roc whose wings create the very winds that swirl Autumnus' cloudscape. Each of these was a song given shape, an element given flesh, and though they lie far from the glittering lands of Gaiaxia, telescopes aimed true may still glimpse their shadows roaming their Realms—of this I can assure you dear reader, as my keenest of eyes have beheld them myself.

And finally, Ikozra shaped Gaiaxia and its twin moons. Our Realm of oceans and mountains, plains and forests; a garden—wild and endlessly changing. And the moons Luna and Verdana, a beautiful pairing of purple and green, danced in the sky, creating the stunning nighttime tapestries we still marvel at today. When Verdana swells full, the lands shimmer in emerald hues; when Luna reigns alone, her violet glow lays the Realm in velvet shadows. But when both moons rise together, their colors entwined, it is as if the heavens themselves are painting for the joy of it. Yet at this juncture it was not yet a suitable home for mortals; no chronicles were kept, no monuments raised, no songs passed through the generations—only growth, endless and unbridled. From this era of untamed chaos was born a single entity from Ikozra's will: Onni.

The firstborn of Ikozra, Onni was a contradiction given sentience; ever-shifting, never fixed, and never bound to one form. Those who claim to have glimpsed Onni describe it differently each time: a man, a woman, a child, a friend, a foe. It became Ikozra’s will given form, a guide, a hand, a witness. Always true, always false, always exactly what was needed, when and where it was needed. A god of Fate and Fortune, though unlike any god that came after. I once met a woman during my travels through the wilds between Cressillia and Angredel who claimed she seen Onni twice in the same night: once as a handsome man and the second as a rather rude witch of a woman. She claimed both saved her life, causing her to change her ways. This was all over a rather stiff bottle of wine and after a long day on the road, so do with that what you will, dear reader, as I myself make no judgement of her character, merely a note of what was claimed. Onni plays the long game, after all.

But I digress, allow me one more moment of your time as we finish this tale of the first Age of Gaiaxia.

And then—at last—something new stirred. A gleam of gold among the mountains, a majestic pair of wings unfurling from an equally beautiful golden egg. Havard, first of the Dragons, was born. With him dawned not only a new creature, but a new Age: the Age of Dragons. But that, dear reader, is a tale for my next entry.

With ink as fine as my exploits, Yours, ever truly, — Tobias Elanor, Bard, Scholar, Explorer Extraordinaire

© DracTheDrake