The Birth of War
Before there was land or sea, there was the sky — endless, pale, and hungry for light.From that void were born two sisters. The first breathed flame, and the world named her Solrun, the Sun. The second exhaled frost, and the world whispered Lunara, the Moon.
They were twins of opposite hearts — flame and frost, heartbeat and silence, life and dream.Together they spun the heavens.When Solrun rose, the world burned awake.When Lunara reigned, the world fell into silver sleep.
For an age, they danced in perfect rhythm.But balance breeds envy.
Solrun watched how mortals prayed softly beneath the moonlight, their faces lifted in peace. They never begged the moon for mercy — they simply adored her.Lunara, in turn, watched how mortals sang in daylight, celebrating the Sun’s warmth, the harvest, and the joy of life that her light sustained. They needed her sister.Each loved the other too fiercely, too jealously.
When the first mortal raised a blade beneath the sky, the sisters divided the world.
Solrun claimed the southern realms — all fire, summer, and war. Her warriors worshipped her with blood spilled on burning sand.Lunara claimed the northern frost — the lands of dreamers, prophets, and ghosts. Her followers offered her silence and shadow.
Where light touched ice, the world cracked.Where cold kissed flame, storms were born.The sisters turned their dance into battle.
A thousand years of war followed.Every eclipse was a wound reopened — their powers colliding in fire and shadow, consuming sky and sea alike.Mortals built altars from the bones of the fallen, pleading for one goddess to end the other.But neither could die.
They were creation’s first daughters — doomed to destroy what they once built.
On the eve of the Blood Eclipse, when the moon would bleed and the sun would dim, the old seer — the Croon — lifted her one good eye to the sky and spoke:
“The day will come when the Sun binds the Moon in chains of gold.And love will burn brighter than any war.”
Her words echoed across realms, and the gods trembled — for prophecy had finally stirred.
