Hello everyone 👋 I'm Ash, below is my cosmology of the world of Eleneth, a fantasy world i have been creating. Please let me know what you think.

[Ash]

In the beginning there was darkness… still and silent.

From that void, awareness stirred.

This was Atariel, the first to see… and the first to remember.

Her seeing unfolded creation.

The First World.

Darkness mingled with light.

Then the Creator, unseen and nameless, forged from this chaos the flame of the world… and set it upon the firmament.

Energy and matter gathered around it, forming a perfect sphere — the still and dreaming cradle of all that would come.

And He saw that it was fair… and the first world was complete.

The Second World.

Then the Creator sent down four primordial spirits, set with the mighty task of building the world according to His vision… shaping the land and the seas, the mountains and the sky.

When their works were finished, they were each granted dominion over the realms of air, water, fire and earth.

From them arose the lesser spirits, who seeded the forests with fruit and song, carved mountains and valleys, set rivers in their courses, and shaped creatures to tend and nurture them.

And thus… the second world was complete.

The Third World… and the Rise of the Gods.

Atariel, watching from above, marveled at their creations… and longed to join them.

So she took form according to its bounds… and descended among them.

Some of the lesser spirits, greater in awareness and power, were drawn to her majesty and light.

She began to teach them about creation… their world… and the will of the flame.

And so many took shape in her likeness… in form, mind, and spirit.

But not all were willing to learn from, or trust, Atariel… for the world was wrought in both light and shadow.

Then she lifted her gaze skyward, whence she had come… and saw the gaping black of the void.

And she was filled with realization… and dread.

Fearing for the new world, she, with the aid of the flame, forged a sentinel against the void: the sun… and set it upon its path across the sky.

But when the sun passed beyond the edge of the world… the darkness returned.

Again she was afraid.

So she fashioned a second light to follow the first — the moon.

This light was gentler… and dimmer… for she was spent.

As even the moon began to fade, she knew she could make no further lights.

So she turned her plea to the source of creation… for a sign of hope.

In answer, the sky was set ablaze with brilliant colors — pure and blinding.

When the light faded… what remained was like a black ocean strewn with countless gems.

And the world took its first breath of time.

The spirits and beasts moved in rhythm with the great lights…

And the third world was complete.

The Gift of Will.

The gods looked upon their work and marveled.

Yet in their hearts… something was missing.

Beings with whom they might share this world.

So they formed children in their likeness, made from themselves and of their realms.

But these children had no will of their own.

They saw the world only as twilight… colorless and dim.

Beholding them, the Creator gave one final gift.

The gift of will.

And their eyes were opened.

For the first time, they saw the colors of light, felt the warmth of the earth, tasted its springs, and breathed the sweet scents carried upon the air.

Delighted, the gods taught them their crafts and arts, their tongues, the passing of seasons, the path of the sun, moon and stars… and of the flame — the heart of the world — so they might share in the wonder of creation.

The Dawntime… and the Fall of Paradise.

For untold millennia, the world existed in untouched splendor.

A paradise of green valleys and pure rivers.

At its center, the gods built a great city of crystal and white stone.

From there, Atariel appointed twelve of the mightiest spirits, whom mortals called gods, to govern the world according to the will of the Creator.

But one among them, called Arkalegon, grew wary of mortals and their growing knowledge and power.

He began to question the gift of will itself… and whether it would lead to the destruction of all they had created.

So Arkalegon spoke to the others.

“The mortals have become strong by our will.

They have shown us their unquenchable thirst for knowledge… and desire for power.

How long is it before they seek to take our place?

Are they not lesser than us?

Would not creation flourish forever unmarred… if they be unmade?”

Most of the gods found his words abhorrent… and dismissed him.

Arkalegon was ashamed.

And from that shame… envy took root.

But not all dismissed him.

As time passed, he gathered followers… and his power and influence grew.

Then with a small host, he came a second time before the council… and again called for the mortals’ unmaking.

And again… they denied him.

Voices rose in contention.

The sky darkened.

And the earth trembled.

Then Atariel appeared among them — tall and radiant, rising like the dawn.

And she spoke.

“I have seen this world from its beginning to its end.

Do not meddle with things thou shalt never know, nor ever will… for it shall be thine own unmaking.”

Shame fell upon the assembly… and they bowed to her grace.

But Arkalegon could not relent.

Humiliated twice, his envy hardened into hatred.

He turned his gaze upon the mortals… and began to sow discord among them, turning them against one another… and against the gods and the will of the flame.

As his malice grew… so too did his strength.

He began to look beyond the light of Eleneth… and to draw power from the void.

And from it… evil was born into the world.

From this power he created foul creatures and twisted beings.

Devourers of light.

Now at his full strength, and with a mighty host and his leviathans of war, he came a third and final time to the hall of judgment… and demanded the children be enslaved or destroyed.

The Sundering.

At first the gods recoiled in dread at his might… and the power the void had given him.

But they remembered the Creator… and the will of the flame.

And they overcame their fear.

And the war began.

The world was torn asunder.

The skies cracked open… and blood rained from above.

Lands sank beneath the seas.

Forests turned to ash.

And countless souls were lost.

At last, the twelve great spirits remained.

They encircled Arkalegon… and bound him.

He laughed at their defiance.

Then Atariel appeared once more… like a blazing star.

Together she and the twelve wielded the flame of the world… and bound him in chains of light.

As the chains burned, Arkalegon pleaded for mercy.

But none was given.

For his eyes held no redemption.

And the light in his heart was burnt away and filled with ash.

And his spirit… now shadow.

And so he was cast into the void to which his will was bound.

The gods wept at the destruction they had wrought upon the world… and their children.

And they vowed never again to raise their power against creation.

And so, with the aid of Atariel, they lifted their earthly kingdom — the city of crystal and white stone — into the sky.

It became a shining blue star, forever bright upon the western horizon.

A sign of hope… for the children of Eleneth.

(\*End of cosmology\*)

 

[Queshire]

Well, objectively speaking it certainly works for a story. The relation between Atariel and the Creator could be clearly. At first it seemed like they were supposed to be the same thing, but later looks like they're seperate beings.

Subjectively it's very Christian-y.

 

[Ash]

Continuation...

The Age of Rebirth

After Arkalegon's defeat and the gods' departure, the people of Eleneth were left to rebuild and reshape the world according to their own destinies.

As the skies cleared and the sun shone once more, Eleneth began to heal. Arkalegon did indeed bring renewal and rebirth—just not in the way he expected.

The ash from the destruction became the very sustenance of the new forests and, in turn, their creatures.

Eleneth was now rugged and raw: the mountains taller, the trenches deeper, its terrain more harsh. Even the northern regions became frozen wastelands.

Once-great primordial forests that had covered entire continents were turned to dust, sand, and rock, becoming vast and barren deserts. Places once connected were now separated by oceans. Yet even so, Eleneth became, although not perfect, perhaps even more beautiful than ever.

Now, without their teachers, the mortal races of Eleneth had to rise on their own—and rise they did. The first civilizations still remembered paradise and the gods, and over time built great monuments and wonders of their own, as if trying to create a new paradise for themselves.

But it was not to be.

And though Arkalegon was gone, his influence remained, and Eleneth could never know everlasting peace again.

Over the centuries, kingdoms rise and fall. Heroes are born, and they die. Kings are remembered and then forgotten. And from generation to generation, the gods themselves became a distant memory and a dream—like the Blue Star in the west.

\[Below is a codex of names.\\\]\*

\*\*The Creator\*\* = The Maker of All, The Divine Flame, The Source of Creation - Often seen as a male figure. Created the universe of Eleneth. He gifted the mortal races the ability to experience reality. He created the stars.

Afterward, he is not mentioned to intervene again.

\*\*Atariel\*\* = Goddess of Dawn, Queen of the Stars, Lady of Light, The Dawn Maiden - She is the first light, the first to perceive Creation. She created the sun and the moon. She is the goddess of hope and light.

\*\*The Heart of the World\*\* = The flame of the World, The Flame, The Nexus Flame - It is the physical and spiritual anchor at the center of the planet. It is the source from which magic flows. It holds the physical world together. It is not a living being, but living power.

\*\*The Primordial Spirits\*\* = They were created by the Divine Flame and sent into the world to shape it - their sole purpose is to govern the natural order and the forces of nature - fire, water, earth, and air.

\*\*Arkalegon\*\* = The Dark Lord, The One, The Fallen One - He is the first shadow. Arkalegon is an ancient spirit and one of the first to come into being. His essence was born of the primordial forces of fire and earth. He saw that fire was as much a part of the world as water or air, and that fire begat rebirth and renewal.

As the mortal races became more powerful and their civilizations grew, he began to see them as a blight or a sickness upon the world and, by his nature, though not malevolent at this time, there was only one solution: to sweep them away like fire to bring forth a renewed paradise.

When he shared his concerns with the other gods, he was twice utterly dismissed, condemned, and humiliated - and a fire was ignited in his heart that would burn it to ash.

But he was not alone. There were many others who felt as he did and were persuaded by his words.

With the fire of his hatred now burning within him, he began to look for power from the void - a presence far older than that of light. And as he drew power from it, he became mighty, but his spirit and will had become bound to it, and he tore a hole through the fabric of Creation, allowing evil to pass into Eleneth.

Now at his full power, he challenged the gods again and began the Sundering, in which he was ultimately defeated and cast into the void.

The Children of Eleneth = The mortal races of Eleneth.

 

[Ash]

Well, objectively speaking it certainly works for a story. The relation between Atariel and the Creator could be clearly. At first it seemed like they were supposed to be the same thing, but later looks like they're seperate beings.

Subjectively it's very Christian-y.

Thanks for the feedback. I posted a small summary of names/characters above for a bit more clarification. Also I kinda like the ambiguity in terms of in-world religious groups might ask that very same question. "Are they two separate beings? or are they two different aspects of the same Divine entity."
But just for clarification they are separate beings lol.

 

[Ash]

Below is a separate piece of lore concerning the Void. im still working on it but do you think it is more interesting than just empty darkness? Or could it just be unnecessary clutter? I'd be interested in any feedback.

Now the Void was a cosmic force that lay deep in primordial slumber, silent and still, patient and content.
Until, like the flash of a thought, a bright flame appeared in its sight like a dream or a vision.
This was Atariel, and it perceived her light and wanted nothing more than to extinguish it.
The Void stirred and began to envelop the light.
Then, like lightning over a dark sea, another being appeared, one far greater and more terrible to behold than the Void itself — the Creator.
In that moment, it became awake and aware that this was neither a perception of its own mind nor a dream, but a new reality that it could neither fathom nor reason.
Enraged that its ancient sleep had been broken, chaos was unleashed, and it sought to extinguish this new light.
As the light and the dark collided, the Creator forged a blazing flame of light, like an orb of white lightning, and the Void was blinded and burned and fled from its power.
As ages passed, it ever desired, with insatiable hunger, to devour the light whole — to return once more to the dark of sleep.
A time would come when Atariel descended into Eleneth and took form according to its bounds.
She was the first light it had ever seen, and it hated her most of all, yet it did not fear her.
For knowing nothing but darkness and need, it could not comprehend why she would diminish herself so.
It seized the chance and encompassed the world with its gaping maw to swallow it whole.
She, with the greater part of her power, created the Sun, and it fled from its glory.
But then the Sun moved, and it tried again.
Then she created a second light — the Moon — but this one did not make it flee.
Instead, with resolute certainty, it knew she could not challenge it again, and it waited for the Moon to pass.
Just as the Moon faded, the sky was set ablaze with brilliant light, and the stars were born.
All of Eleneth, and the firmament and the high heavens therein, were shrouded from it by the veil of stars — the very fabric of Creation.

CONTEXT. My world is primarily based on consciousness, so think of it like the universe is a brain and the void is like the subconscious or like the part of the sleeping brain before it dreams. Atariel is like the spark of awareness or the "awake" consciousness and the Creator is like the primary thought or creative intention and the flame of the world is like the creative force generated by that intent becoming the physical world experienced by mortals.

Haha I hope that makes sense.

 

[pmmg]

I think it works fine for a creation story. It does have a Judeo/Christian vibe to it, but...when you start with nothing and then a spark of light, that not easy to avoid. For me, it gets a pass.

But I am not into world building, I want story. Without a story, this is just spinning one's wheels. What is the story?

After you have put in this much work, will any of this appear in the story?

 

[Eddric]

It's definitely poetic. It's good big bang world building stuff. How does it relate to your story, if there is one?

 

[KurtMichael]

Well, objectively speaking it certainly works for a story. The relation between Atariel and the Creator could be clearly. At first it seemed like they were supposed to be the same thing, but later looks like they're seperate beings.

Subjectively it's very Christian-y.

Some of the greatest stories in fantasy writings are “Christian-y”.

 

[KurtMichael]

I think this is an awesome world that you’ve created! I love the religious influence in the creation and history. I’d love to see a story written within this world. Do you plan on writing anything?

 

[Ash]

This is a very slimmed down summary for my story. Ive got a long way to go and no doubt i will change things but at least you can have an idea.

It was into a world long scarred by the Sundering that a prince was born, though he knew it not.
When King Harrad Vhalor the Peaceful lay upon his deathbed, he entrusted his daughter Serenya with the future of the realm and spoke that her son after her should inherit the throne. But before the old king had scarcely passed from this world, his son Maeryon seized the crown for himself. And Serenya fled with her infant son into exile.
For eight years mother and child wandered in secret, disguised as peasants and hidden from those who sought their deaths. But evil found them at last. Raiders came out of the east, and amid fire and chaos they were torn apart. A captain, seeing strength and spirit within the boy, spared his life.
And so the child was carried far away.
Believing his mother dead, he was sold into slavery.
And there his name was forgotten.
He became simply Ash, named for the soot that covered him in the forges where he labored.
Years passed.
At sixteen years of age he was cast into the fighting pits. Though still a slave, he became beloved as a spectacle within the great arenas. Men cheered his victories and feared his wrath, and for eight years he rose among the greatest champions of that land.
Yet though his hand had become skilled in death, his heart grew weary of it.
He sought neither riches nor glory.
He desired only freedom, and that his brothers in bondage might one day know it also.
By chance, King Maeryon himself came to witness the games. Confident that no slave could overcome his champion, the king made a bargain before all the multitude.
But Ash prevailed.
Standing over the fallen man, sword raised high, he remembered a warmth long buried beneath the years. A mother's embrace he no longer understood. Looking upon the defeated warrior, he saw not an enemy, but himself.
And he chose mercy.
The crowd erupted in fury and awe.
Yet Maeryon would have had him killed where he stood. Only the threat of rebellion among the people forced the king to spare him and declare him free.
Neither man knew that uncle and nephew had stood face to face.
And high above, in the king’s viewing platform, stood an old servant who once served Harrad Vhalor. When he saw the boy’s deep green eyes, he knew what he was seeing. Without revealing himself, he sent a raven to Serenya, telling her what had been found: her son yet lived.
That night, beneath the stars, Ash slept more peacefully than he ever had before.
And in his dreams appeared a radiant woman, queenly and bright as clear water beneath dawn.
She called him by a name he had not heard since infancy.
“Asharyon.”
And she said unto him:
“Be at peace, I have seen you, Asharyon, since before you were born. You have endured much toil and loss, but even now there is more to come. Your path now lies east. Ere the sun be your guide. Go in haste, for the darkness is nigh. Go in peace, but your hope shall be unto yourself.”
When he awoke, he understood little of her words. Yet he knew he must journey east.
Thus began his wandering.
He did not go alone. From the pits he broke free with Kaelen, a brother forged in chains, and together they fled the life that had shaped them.
They traveled east into broken lands and at last reached mountains where fire and stone met beneath endless ash.
There they encountered a mysterious mage who set before them twelve trials of fire and sand. Asharyon endured them all.
In surviving, he was taught the Ancient Tongue of dragons, and something of the old bonds between mortal will and ancient flame. A dragon did not bow to him, nor he to it—but a recognition passed between them, a bond not yet fulfilled.
The mage spoke of unrest spreading south, of Maeryon’s influence reaching even across seas. Seeing what Asharyon had become, the mage abandoned his solitude and followed him.
And so they turned south.
Across deserts and broken roads, the dragon was often seen—above cliffs, beyond clouds, a shadow that never fully left. And rumors spread of a man who walked with a dragon’s presence at his back.
He became known across lands.
Some called him hero.
Some called him renegade.
He called himself neither.
He rejected prophecy and visions alike, trusting only what stood before him—his sword, his companions, and his own judgment.
Where he passed, chains broke.
And the world began to whisper his name.
At last he reached the coast of the Sea of Serpents upon the edge of Atam, and there he broke a slave city free. Though still no rider of dragons, the presence that followed him turned battle itself, as though something vast had already chosen his path.
And far away, Serenya heard whispers of a man called Ash.
And she knew.
She sent a raven.
When it reached him, everything he had buried shifted.
And he chose west.
Following the Blue Star.
The ship sailed.
And the storm came.
The sea broke them.
Days passed upon wreckage and drift, the dragon gone, hunger and thirst consuming them, until pirates and reavers took what remained and carried them south across the Sea of Serpents into Zalkar in Zal’Khari.
There they were enslaved once more.
Yet even there Asharyon did not break.
He became entangled in a rebellion woven of smuggling, betrayal, and old grudges. For months he and those with him survived between loyalties, waiting for the moment the city would tear itself apart.
And when it did, Asharyon and his companions were surrounded, and death closed in.
Then a dragon came.
And the world shifted again.
And he lived.
From there, his name spread farther still, carried by survivors, traders, and frightened soldiers. But still he refused prophecy, refused to be made into a symbol, trusting only what he could touch, see, and strike.
Eventually his path bent north and west.
And at last he came to White Harbor.
After sixteen years of loss and wandering, Serenya beheld her son once more.
And she knew him instantly.
Deep green eyes.
The same child she had lost.
And Asharyon learned the truth.
He was the grandson of Harrad Vhalor.
And the son of Serenya.
Yet by then he was no longer merely a lost prince.
For suffering had forged him.
Mercy had tempered him.
And his choices had shaped him.
But in secret, Maeryon had turned to forbidden rites and dark works, seeking to bind an ancient horror and use it to rule the world.
But the being he sought was no lesser spirit.
It was Arkalegon.
And Arkalegon did not obey.
He deceived.
And he used Maeryon’s hunger to break his chains and return from the Void.
Thus began the final war.
Maeryon was confronted.
And he surrendered.
Asharyon spared him.
But as he turned away, Maeryon struck in treachery.
And Ash turned the blade aside and drove his sword into his uncle’s belly.
And as death came upon him, Maeryon spoke only these words:
“You are too late.”
Then the heavens darkened.
The sky became red and black.
And upon the plains descended Arkalegon.
Fire and ruin given form.
His laughter was thunder and storm, and fear broke armies where they stood.
But Asharyon did not fall.
Clad in Elenite armor, he shone before all who beheld him.
And he cried:
“Foul demon! Go back to the abyss! You will not be having this world today!”
And Arkalegon answered:
“You wear the garb of ancient warriors old, yet by them you are nothing. You have the blood of destiny within you, but unto me you are nothing, and I shall return you unto nothing, and you shall be forsaken.”
And Asharyon answered:
“You are mighty and terrible indeed, and nay, we cannot overcome thee. But art thou thyself so afraid as to challenge me in mine own form, which thou despisest? As mortal?”
And Arkalegon’s wrath erupted.
And he became man-shaped flame and smoke.
And they fought.
Long and terrible was their struggle.
And Asharyon contended until he was spent.
Then the words returned to him:
Go in peace, but your hope shall be unto yourself.
And he understood.
Not kings.
Not prophecy.
But choice.
And he became the Brightflame.
A star made flesh.
And Arkalegon fell.
And the world trembled.
Thus ended Arkalegon.
And thus began the Age of Ash.
And Asharyon, once called Ash, was remembered not as a slave, nor a prince, nor a weapon of kings—
but as the hope that chose itself.

I think this is an awesome world that you’ve created! I love the religious influence in the creation and history. I’d love to see a story written within this world. Do you plan on writing anything?