In the first age, in the first day of creation, the world was naught but barren earth. The seas and sky— in their infancy— had known neither wind nor wave. And this pleased the gods, for they reveled in lethargy. They sat idle in their halls, singing praise of themselves while but one among them stirred. The king of kings. The god of gods. He who is without equal. The Wound-God.

He saw the stillborn world and cried out, “Lo, what vain creatures you are. You sit upon your thrones when your kingdom is naught but ash and dust. Shall none breathe life into our creation?” The heavens were silent. And a great fire arose in the Wound-God’s breast. A fury which would never be quelled. “Very well,” spoke he, “if it shall not draw breath then it shall bleed!” Wrestling a still-beating heart from his breast, he cast it down from the heavens. Air and earth were rent alike as it tore through to the very depths of creation. Soon, the Wound-God’s ire was felt in all things. The seas began to churn, stagnant air turned to violent gusts, day turned to night, and spring gave way to summer. The world had at last known change.

From the horrid gash where the heart had entered, many embers escaped. These were the Wound-God’s will made manifest. He addressed them, “Hark, godlings. You of my blood, you are the masters of this world. It is thus that I call you the First Kind.” And this we are called forever and ever. “From the depths of the earth to the heights of heaven, all is yours. While my heart beats, you will never know defeat.”

With this, our ancestors took flight. They would claim every corner of the world. From the mountaintops, to the forests, and even to the seas, for such was their right. And the heavens were just as much. So they turned their eyes to that beautiful place, preparing to lay siege. Yet, the very moment they pierced the heavens, a voice cried out. Our Lady— great and fair, ever compassionate— moaned, “O noble creatures, mercy! Turn not your righteous gaze towards us gods! Indeed, we have wronged you. Indeed, we dwell in halls which are your own. But grant us this and we shall make tribute!”

With trembling hand she blessed the earth, and wealth sprung forth from mere stone. Gold, ruby, and sapphire alike. It was as if the stars themselves had come down to shine for them, our ancestors. Our Lady had won them not in word, but in deed. Moved, their fury waned and the world was temperate.

But the rest of the gods looked on with greed. They had not the reverence of Our Lady. They whispered amongst themselves, “What have these beasts done to deserve our halls? Shall we bow to them, we who have never known a master? Very well. Let us make tribute then. Let us give these demons all that they deserve.”

From the dirt and dust they fashioned slaves. Simple creatures to toil and serve in our stead. Among them were the elves who, blessed with beauty, would sing songs of our deeds from dawn till dusk. And the goblins as well, who, insatiable things that they were, would fetch our gold from the depths of the earth. And of course there were the humans, the most clever of our servants. Mighty kingdoms and temples were raised by their hands. All in service of our ancestors. For an age, they would rule and rule well.

But our ancestors knew not the treachery that lie in store. The gods were conspiring against them as they had since the beginning. They sent visions, illusions meant to turn the servant against the master. "How noble the First Kind are," whispered the gods, "merciful and just lords. But alas, you who have raised the cattle shall never know its milk. Nor its flesh. Is this just too?"

The lesser races began to covet things which were not their own— our kingdoms, our fire, our gold— for the gods had made them bold. They defiled the temples they had once raised. They hoarded the treasures promised us by Our Lady. And they received magic with which to strike us, their masters. Our ancestors were scandalized. They saw their servants for what they were, mere vermin, and made war. But in this, the gods had already won. Our ancestors could not die and the lesser races would not surrender. This war was doomed to be ceaseless.

In its wake, the world was left a husk of its former self. The elves sang not but in funeral song. The goblins gave up our treasure no longer. And the humans, for all of their cleverness, could make naught but graves. Our ancestors watched as all things turned against them. Only one course of action remained: to bargain. And what a tragedy it was! The rightful rulers of this world forced to flee from it, giving in wholly to fantasy and folly. But it had to be done.

Our ancestors submitted themselves to slumber. In these wicked visions they met the trickiest of the gods. The queen of lies herself. The Dreamer. She dared address them with feigned admiration. “Joyous day!” cried she. “The noble lords have blessed my halls with their presence.”

Our ancestors answered in the manner she deserved. “Your tongue has more honor than the rest of you. If your deeds matched your words, you would be as noble as we. But alas, your hall is barren. Dressed only in that which you can imagine. You squander our gift.”

“Perhaps. But there is more power in my tongue than in the whole of your race. If your wills were as steadfast as my dreams, your slaves would not have rebelled. You have not the sovereignty required for my gift.”

Our ancestors roared and the world trembled. “Confuse not your fantasies for reality, wench. They rebel on your account. You promise things which even you cannot acquire. If this continues, it will be you who feels our fury in its fullest.”

“Mercy, dear masters! As you have said, my works are but illusions! I have done nothing to displease you. No, it was Fate who has done this. It was he who willed this. Even before time itself he had willed this, for he is without exception. None may defy him.” Her words were sweet liqueur. Our ancestors stayed their hands for but a moment to taste them. “Though, perhaps there is a way. If you are displeased with my gift then a trade, masters. Give up your ceaseless lives and I shall give you Fate.” Such a deal was beneath them, but they were indeed bound. After much debate, they agreed. The Dreamer whispered the name of Fate and it was known.

When our ancestors awoke they found their halls raided. The lesser races sorrounded them, driving blades into their breasts. And they, for the first time, tasted iron but did not live to savor it. Like a terrible deluge, waves of servants washed over the land. A great many returned to hall of the Dreamer. So began the Age of Man.

Lament, brothers, for the lesser kind. For their days are short. Though we now may die, our reign has not ended. The Wound-God's heart still beats. The Age of Man lasts only as long as we allow. Lament, brothers, for the gods. For their days are shorter. Soon they too will fall, like the flame of the world, into the depths of creation. So lie in wait, brothers, for the day is soon approaching.

Every piece of writing I do comes with a commentary. I thought it might be interesting for you all to see my thought process when it comes to writing and learn about some of the ideas I have for the world at large.

First and foremost, I would like to clear up a few misconceptions that Christianity gives us about religion:

1. There was no opting out. The reason we can even have atheists today is because of the separation of church and state. This wasn't possible in Ancient Greek. For a Greek, not believing in the gods meant not believing in society itself as a concept. It was nonsensical

2. There was no single story. Because of the Bible there is a singular, agreed upon Christian narrative. This was not at all the case for pagans. Basically everyone in Ancient Greece believed that Zeus would never be dethroned. Zeus's victory over Kronos represented the establishment of a perfect, moral Greek society. He was ruler of the universe and would be for the rest of time. However, a rather important belief in the cult of Dionysus was that he would one day overthrow Zeus. Two toally contradictory ideas existing in the same society. Likewise, some people considered Aphrodite was a primordial god while others said she was a child of Zeus. There was no widespread agreement on anything. Myths are local phenomena and as such, can and will contradict each other. None of them reflect an overarching agreed upon narrative

3. People didn't honor all the gods. Just as myths are local phenomena, so are gods. Most people worshiped the city they live in, personified as a god.What reason would a blacksmith have to pray to Demeter, goddess of the harvest? Or a farmer to Hephaestus, god of metallurgy? People only honored gods as they needed them and at their associated holidays/festivals

4. Gods weren't moral. God in Christianity represents what ought to be. He acts in a way that is better than humanity. The pagan gods were literally just the forces of nature and nothing more. To try and analyze the morality of Poseidon is to try and analyze the morality of the sea. It's a pointless endeavor. The sea isn't a alive. It's not good and it's not bad. Sometimes it may help you sail and sometimes it may destroy your boat. But it does neither for any greater purpose. This is why the gods are always depicted as being fickle in Greek myth. It's also why they commit so many crimes. Killing indiscriminately, assaulting women, and then punishing them for being assaulted. Greeks didn't see this as good, nor did they condemn it. They just pointed it out. "These injustices happen in our society. Our lives are not fair. People with power abuse it." Gods act as humans are, not ought

Filling out the Pantheon

The idea that spawned this entire fantasy worldbuilding project was a writing prompt by a very close friend of mine. That will be posted here later. Either way, in that short passage I wrote, the main character starts to panic and desperately prays to every god he could remember in that moment. Of these, I name only a few. Among them is the Keeper of the Hearth.

A hearth is basically a fireplace and a stove in one. It keeps you warm and it feeds you. Because of that, the hearth can often be considered synonymous with the entire home. This epithet "Keeper of the Hearth" must denote a god of hospitality, of protection, and of fire.

However, very early into the process of filling out the pantheon I imagined a completely separate god of fire. This one I gave the epithet "the Ember King". Because the Keeper of the Hearth has all of these associations with civilized society and honor, I decided the Ember King would represent war and wanton destruction. He represents fire in its natural state, only able to bring ruin. In human myths, the Ember King is the father of the Keeper of the Hearth. The myth of the son overthrowing the father would be symbolic of man learning to control fire. Also the fact fire isn't a gift but something humans had to conquer could be symbolic of their place in the world, so few of them having access to magic.

A prominent god that wasn't mentioned in the original passage, however, was the Dreamer. I was really intrigued by this idea of people conflating death with sleeping so I personified that. She is the goddess of mysteries, illusion, secrets, dreams, and death. All of these concepts are connected in that they are "not real" in some sense. I will have much more to say about her in the next section, so stay tuned. For now though, that is all that is relevant to explaining this story.

Draconic Culture

When it comes to dragons, fantasy writers always portray them as being the most formidable (mortal) creature. It takes an entire army just to slay a single one. So, realistically, every race on the face of the planet should fear the dragons. I think this would have a massive effect on their culture. The fact that they can just kill anybody that stands in their way with zero effort means that they would value power above all else. Might makes right. Weakness is immoral, strength is more. This fundamental belief is what leads to them worshiping the Ember King. Everything that he represents—war, violence, fire—is noble to them.

Furthermore, I think because of their immense strength, the dragons wound consider themselves closer to the gods than to mortals. When a single member of your species can wipe out kingdoms without even breaking a sweat, this kind of thinking is natural. And while many people in real life have claimed to be descended from gods, I think dragons would go further and literally consider themselves gods. They see the world and the other races as created things. They, on the other hand, are aspects of the Ember King. If he is a flame then they are the embers thereof.

I don't believe the dragons would honor any other god. After all, the singular thing they value is power. No other god would be worth honoring to them. In fact, the inverse is true. They revile all other gods. After all, dragons are creatures of action. If they want to want a village destroyed, they don't wish for it or dream about it, they go and destroy it themselves. This is why they deem the Dreamer to be the lowest of all the gods. She represents things which are imagined, idle wishing. To them there is nothing more disgusting than that.

And the final thing I'd like to bring up is actually a compromise of mine. There seem to be two different ways to portray dragons in fiction. They are either mindless beasts who know nothing but to destroy, or they're incredibly introspective creatures who speak only in riddle. I leaned into the destructive nature but I wanted to hint at the other style of depiction somehow. I decided to retain their wise nature in the form of a superstition. Dragons hold names to be incredibly divine things. To know the name of something is to know its very substance. To have complete control over it. Every dragon is born with a true name. It is a right of passage to discover to meditate and discover this true name. By learning it, a hatchling gains full control of their base urges and can direct their power outward. Dragons are only ever heard to say "they call me...". They refer to each other by title alone.

Style and Composition

There are a few things I wanted this myth to do. Firstly, it addresses this weird discrepancy where dragons are the most powerful creatures in fantasy and yet writers insist that somehow only 2 are left alive. Secondly, it rationalizes the dragons' desire for treasure as some sort of divine promise. And thirdly, it explains how the dragons can view themselves as divine when they are 1. mortal and 2. very near extinction.

I gave the dragons appropriate epithets for the gods. The Ember King they call the Wound-God in reference to this very myth where he tears out his own heart. In the middle of writing I decided that the dragons should have a soft spot for the Lady of the Harvest. Again likening to Greek society, two gods were universally worshiped, Zeus and Aphrodite. Zeus because he was the head of the pantheon and Aphrodite because pretty much everyone experiences love. The Lady of the Harvest (as I currently concieve of her at least) is associated with the continued life of all things. A goddess of nature shouldn't just represent grass and forests and such but all things in nature. I think every race would honor her to differing degrees. The dragons are very irreverant in this regard. They call her "Our Lady" as she is seen less as a benefactor but among the treasures which are owed them as gods. They don't really honor her, they respect her because she is submissive to them.

Another thing you may have noticed is thhat I was very careful with my language. I never actually name the planet they live on. I only ever use "world" or refer to the literal, physical "earth". This is because I haven't actually decided what the planet should be called. Nor even what continents exist on it. For similar reasons, I kept references to the draconic language low.

I have zero plans to make a conlang right now so I avoided referencing words in the Draconic language as much as possible. The only terms I reference are the word "dragon" which rendered in their language as "the first kind" and the compound word "Wound-God". All other information I'm leaving as vague as possible.

When it comes to the literal word-by-word, phrase-by-phrase composition, I tried to make it work as an oral tradition. One thing you may notice if you read the Bible is how much it repeats itself. There are countless passages which begin the exact same way. They are formulaic. Example: "And God said... And God made... And God called... And the evening and the morning were the Nth day". Before the Bible was written, it was spoken, and these repeating figures helped you memorize it. When every passage begins the same way, there's less unique information to memorize. This is the thought process behind many poetic techniques. Old English poetry, like Beowulf, employed assonance ("Oft Sċyld Sċēfing | sċeaþena þrēatum"). Latin poetry, like the Aeneid, employed meter ("Armavi/rumqueca/nō,Trō/jaequī/prīmusab/ōrīs"). All of these techniques (especially with musical accompaniment) made it possible for a single person to memorize tens of thousands of lines.

I employed formulaic phrasing and assonance to give the passage the feeling of actually being an oral tradition. I don't think I actually did very well in either regard. I didn't commit hard enough to using those techniques. If I rewrite this, I would like to fix that. At this point it feels more like a summary of the actual myth. But I digress.

The last thing I would like to bring attention to is the fact that this myth never actually explains the fact that names are power. It's a major plot point but it's never explained why knowing something's name means you control it. I did this because I think this is such a fundamental belief it wouldn't warrant explaining. Or perhaps that part of the myth was lost to time. This happens sometimes. Written copies of myths get damaged and important sections are lost forever. Perfect example: in the myth of Persephone's abduction, Hades makes her eat pomegranate seeds to ensure she'll have to come back to the underworld. Absolute nonsense. Not clear at all what this means and we can never really know because the tablet is badly damaged at that exact spot.