[World-building] The Music of Creation

(A little too Tolkien for my liking so its been shelved for the time being – Alex).

Truly humans, of all beings gifted free will, are the blessed among us. Their voices began so very late in the song and yet they sung with such clarity.

The Oldest among us had been singing for aeons when the first human voice rose in crescendo. Deep and sonorous they were, so full of vigour and purpose, yet so short. What they call their curse, their short lives under the sky and stars, is in fact their most precious trait.

Their venerated seers and aged, lined deep with the toils of human mortality, tanned from the fields and worried with wisdom, are but mere pups to the even the youngest of our kin.

For man has no reckoning for how long the song has played; how long our voices have sung. Since the time of darkness, before the light of the sun burned away the shadow, has our harmony danced in the Song of the Spheres. We were the chosen: the conductors, the operators of all creation as we saw fit. That trust was misplaced.

Mortality is the curse against which man rails, he does not know the perpetual agony of millennial guilt.

The song was ours, gifted to us to harmonise life and death by the Creator himself. We were tasked to tune the land, shape the mountains and raise the great forests. The song was ours and we revelled in the responsibility.

Eventually amongst that sacred sonata new voices arose, those under the mountains and those spread across deserts; those beneath the waves and those in the skies. Beasts, birds and sentient beings appeared from the melody beautiful and wonderful in golden light.

Then harmony was shattered. Our arrogance sullied the song as some wished to take it for their own to use against the Creator and shape a world with us as its masters. After all, our empires spanned the land, why should it not be ours?

That arrogance was our end. The symmetry of the songs broke and warped and into the world all that is twisted and evil broke. Murder, war, pestilence, death – all escaped and thrived in the chaos.

His vengeance was swift and brutal. Cast down from favour we fought countless wars to repair the tune – to bring it back to its shining, golden conception – and we failed. In shame we withdrew from the Music, bloodied, beaten, our empire in ruins and our people dwindling in numbers. The world grew dark with shadow once again.

It was then that Man’s voice arose, birthed into a world of chaos and death. It broke like a wave upon the shore, filling the Music with the sound of redemption. Our redemption.

For decades we sought those voices, strode the world in search of a life force that we knew we needed to kindle and care for. From that very first verse did Humanity become our charge – so delicate yet capable of the greatest deeds. Theirs was the fortississimo the Oldest had sought to break the dark of the world.

Under our tutelage they flourished. From nomadic wanderers they grew to great kingdoms, powerful realms whose armies spread the Music to every corner of the world.

It was too late when we realised our mistake. The song, which had once belonged to all, became theirs. The Music of the Spheres rang with the crescendo of Man. Arrogance, vice, pride; hubris – all the traits the Oldest had sought to wipe from the song – began to emerge to sully it once more.

Man turned upon us, and we upon them. Allies of the closest kind fought terrible wars of genocide. Though few, we wrought terrible destruction upon humanity and its realms. Their golden age withered to nought, awash with the blood of its finest sons and daughters.

Now the song enters its final verse and we find ourselves in need of Man once more. What an irony it is that the fate of the Music lies at the feet of those cannot hear the song. Man is deaf to the harmony – in his rejection of us he rejected the truth of creation. Great kingdoms he has spread over our world, yet none will survive the coming darkness.

For the Music has a new voice. Ragged, torn, born of blood and ancient battle, foul of tune and filled with rage. The storm-voice shall break upon the world like a sonorous tempest and sweep all away to nothing.

Yet there is one who can stop the crash, one whose voice shall awaken the hidden potential of man. The legacy of kings lies within him, mixed with the song of the Oldest.

He must awaken.

(Picture credit: Underwater Creation by KPEKEP)

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