Setting Background: Archon

Once, before the Fall, Archon was a peaceful place of innovation and creativity. The Drifters came
there to observe others’ creations and to draw inspiration for their own, and the ingenuity of these
immortals and their children multiplied and increased without bound. Creators and Created worked
together to discover the laws of magic and the natural way of the universe, and for a time there was no
misery, no anger, and no misfortune—only constant discovery.

And so it remained, until the Drifters discovered the place at which souls were wrought, and desired to
make their own.

All the Drifters left for this place, the so-called Forge of Aesthelyn, and to this day no one knows
exactly what happened to them.

The Drifters left their most trusted creation in charge of Archon: Zer, the greatest mind among the
mortals. Zer had been given the gift of eternal life, for the Drifters knew not how long their quest
would last, nor how their creations would fare without them. And though the Drifters did not trust their
creations enough to give them the secret of the forging of souls, one of them—Lys Stryanth—thought
that Zer was different, and secretly connected their minds.

For ten thousand years, Zer watched over his charges, and over time he grew more and more distant as
he became engrossed in also watching the Drifters’ journey through Lys Stryanth’s mind.

Then the Drifters entered the Forge.

It was a place that existed without time. Zer saw it for one unfathomable instant that was
simultaneously eternity and no time at all—and then Lys Stryanth was gone. The shock of losing half
of the senses he had enjoyed for ten thousand years, coupled with that impossible glimpse of the Forge
of Aesthelyn, drove Zer mad.

His charges had forgotten him by now; they knew that one day the Drifters would return, but Zer had
never been more than a curiosity, and was quickly dismissed when he receded from their world. When
he returned, claiming in his madness that he had come to take the place of the Drifters, the first few he
tried to command refused. Those were slain, and the rest were made powerless as punishment for their
brethrens’ rebellion.

In time, as the Smiths of Aesthelyn learned what had transpired, they tried to mend the damage their
realm had done to Zer’s soul. But he felt their power and would not let them touch him, and they were
forced to send a being to Archon to overpower him. Rather than go themselves and inflict upon the rest
of the world what had happened to Zer, they created a new soul, designed to be more powerful than
anything the universe had seen before.

But the Smiths did not understand time, and they granted this soul to a being that had been tainted
already by Zer’s madness. This, coupled with the battle with the former occupant for the body’s mind,
broke the Smiths’ control over their agent, and the new soul immediately began to destroy everything it
could see or feel or reach. It was only because it was using so much of its power that Zer was able to
destroy it before the universe itself died.
For their second attempt, the Smiths created thousands of souls of lesser power, but still more than a
mortal could ever hope to comprehend. These were scattered across Archon, and they hid their power
so that they could work in secret. Zer’s rule was cemented once more as the damage of the first
Celestial slowly healed, and thinking to prevent a second incident, he decreed that any being whose
form was unlike his would be destroyed. The new Celestials slowly surrounded him, disguised as his
most loyal followers, and for a time it appeared peace would be restored.

Then the Drifters returned. No one knows what happened in their absence, but when they returned they
had changed, and had drawn away from the influence of time. They set about destroying or enslaving
or changing the things that had existed for as long as anything could remember, and even Zer and the
legions of Celestials of Aesthelyn were helpless against them. In desperation, the fragments of the first
Celestial’s soul were forged into a new whole, and this being was sent back into the world. This time
the Smiths kept their hold over it, and one by one it gathered the lesser Celestials under it and drove the
Drifters into hiding. Finally, when there was no opposition left, the Celestials brought the power of
Aesthelyn to Zer, and at last his soul was mended.

When Zer realized what he had done, he left Archon, thinking to atone, and the great Celestial that had
ended the conflict returned to the Forge, leaving the world in control of its underlings.

Over a thousand years, the Drifters realized what had happened and began to return again. They no
longer caused havoc, but instead set themselves up as gods over the mortals, drawing power from the
worship and secretly warring with each other. Slowly, they began to disappear, until only a handful of
them were left, and the first among them was Lys Stryanth, the god of blood.

These false gods, though they did not slaughter their subjects, were neglectful at best, and when Zer
saw that they had taken over Archon, he knew at last how he could claim his redemption. He would
free the mortals from the Drifters’ rule, and though he could not return to the old golden age and
prevent the Drifters from leaving in the first place—in correcting his madness the Smiths had grounded
him again in time—he would give them back all he remembered from those days.

So Zer returned to the world and, knowing he could not wage war against the usurpers without
destroying what little had been rebuilt, became the god of light.

It has been untold millennia since those wars. None alive remember them but Zer, the god of light,
knowledge, and hope, who refuses to share his memories for fear of revealing his shame. Only a few
relics survive—the sword of Zemel Godslayer, which pierced the heart of Lys Stryanth; the fabled
Book of Stone, which holds the secrets of the first Celestial’s first life; other things that mortals cannot
see, that their minds could not fathom. The Drifters keep Zer’s mad law against nonhuman sapience,
though they know not from where it came; they grant their powers to once-mortal pawns, in ignorance
of the meaning of the visions they show. At first a flood of Drifters traveled to the past, hoping to find
the origins of the universe, but none of them came back, and the flood dwindled to a trickle. Celestials
from the Forge of Aesthelyn appear still from time to time; the few beings that try to search out their
purpose or their source are rarely heard from again.

For a time, there was simply advancement among the mortals and silent scheming among the
immortals, and it seemed that the golden age would be attained again, if with fewer to guide it.
Then a new being rose up, a being calling itself Dismay, and it was worshipped though it did not claim
to be a god. The Stoneborn began to whisper about prophecies of the end of time, and Celestials saw
evil marks appear on living souls. The Gift began to fail on occasion, and mortals drew power from
their own anger. Laws of the universe changed, and all could see that this new being was the cause.

The worshippers of Dismay faded into secrecy, but not before the Drifters saw in them the Paradox—
the being that was its own creator. The thing that was outside time.

The result of their meddlings and the creature that would destroy them.

And now, all over the world, Drifters and lesser immortals give the Gift to their subjects, raising up
armies or new gods, protectors or destroyers, servants of Dismay or shields against it.

This is the world into which you are born.

Gifted

He came for you in the night. He came for you at noon. He found you in a crowd of friends. He found
you sitting alone in the shade. Everyone’s story is different, but however he did it, Ceros found you and
gave you the Gift.

They threw you out. They tried to keep you, to help you, until things started happening. You were
chased out by an angry mob. You were chased out by rabid dogs. You left because you were afraid for
them. You left for no reason at all. Everyone’s story is different, but however it happened, you were
cast out.

You heard rumors and found them. They heard rumors and found you. You stumbled on their camp by
chance. They had been watching you for years and only now revealed themselves. You found dozens of
them. You only found one. You found an army. Everyone’s story is different, but however it happened,
you found them. The others like you. As if you were drawn by fate.

And one more thing is always the same. You are growing stronger.

You are Empowered.

You are mortal no longer.

Celestial

You know not from where you came. That knowledge would destroy you.

You know not your purpose. Your creators’ motives are unfathomable.
You know not your power. Only that it is always increasing.

But you know that the world is dying. And that you can make a difference.

The question is: will you?

Risen

There is something inside you. Not just a voice—a mind. It is not part of you. It merely resides in you.

It is asleep. If it woke, you would die. You are afraid to use its power. Afraid that you might wake it
up.

But you remember things from it. That the world may be ending. That a few immortals—the ones you
once thought were gods—are the only ones trying to stop it.

That others are trying to bring the end sooner.

And that you are one of them.

It is your choice.

Stoneborn

You found it in a dream. You must have. You still don’t know where it is, but you know you have
never been there. But you read it—the Book of Stone. The records kept by the First Celestial of the
Forge of Aesthelyn.

You cannot shut it out. The truth is in your soul now, and so is its power. The secrets of the Men of
Stone and of their magic. The same as all magic, the magic that runs the world.

There were prophecies in the Book. There is no proof of any of them, but you know they are true. Even
you don’t understand most of them, but you know that time is coming to an end. It will take eons—it is
only close in the scope of the universe. But it is coming.

And you can make a difference. The Book did not say how, but you know you can. The knowledge
runs through you more surely than does your blood.

In your hands you hold a piece of the fate of the universe. How will you shape it?

Avenger
Your lover. Your parents. Your best friend. Your brother. Someone, dead at the hands of a god.

There was no reason. No justification. No one ever came to tell you why they had to die.

And as you began to wish with all your heart for revenge, for someone to come along with the power to
stand up for your people, you felt that power growing inside you. Your wish has been granted. It is you.

You know, in a way, where your power comes from: the thing that hid, the new not-god, the
abomination called the Paradox or Karakorus or Dismay. You know that your power comes from the
thing that will destroy the world.

Does that make you evil?

Do you even care?

At last you can have revenge.