In the beginning ere the counting of years, when still the heavens were unlit and the world unshaped, there was but the Song.
No tongue of mortal or immortal may tell whence it came; for it was before all things, and through it all things were made. From its harmony rose the Seven, eldest of the divine kindred, whom later ages named the Luminara. They were as voices wrought of light, and to each was given a tone — bright and unending — that they might weave together the music of creation.
Long did they sing in the void, and their music became form. The mountains were raised as chords of stone; the forests unfolded like green verses upon the land; and the seas answered in laughter and in sorrow. Thus came to being Elarion, the fair and wide, beneath the first dawn wrought by their Song.
In that hour all was well, and the melodies of the Seven were mingled in gladness. Yet among them there arose one whose heart was not content. Vaelthar was his name, fairest in voice and proudest of spirit. To him the harmony of his brethren seemed constraint, and he desired to weave a music apart — to shape a world after his own will, where he alone should be master.
In secret he bent his tone to discord, and subtle were his arts. Many lesser spirits he drew to his purpose, teaching them the ways of separation and the power that lies in silence. Then was wrought the first shadow in song, and it spread through the firmament like a stain of ink upon bright water.
When at last his deceit was known, the heavens shook with strife. For the Seven stood against him, and the Sundering of Songs began. Light clove to darkness, and melody was broken by clamor. The very seas were torn asunder, and the stars trembled in their courses. Yet though Vaelthar's host was mighty, the Seven in their unity prevailed, and they cast him down from the higher firmaments into the deeps of the world.
He fell in flame upon the newborn earth, and where his fire touched, corruption took root. Out of the ruin of his fall were born the Demonkin, shaped in malice and bound to his discordant will. Long he lay hidden beneath the mountains of shadow, nursing his wrath and gathering to him the lost and the forsaken.
But when the tumult was ended, the Seven beheld their work marred and were filled with pity. And so they bestowed upon the Children of Elarion a portion of their blessed harmony, that the world might yet be healed by beauty and remembrance of the Song.
To the Eledhyn, whom Men after named Elves, they gave the keenest hearing, that they might know the music in leaf and star and speak with the spirits of the earth. To the Khazrûn, the delvers in stone, they gave the deep rhythm of the mountains, and in their forges they sang with fire and iron, crafting wonders undying.
To Men, fleeting yet fervent, they gave a lesser echo — faint but filled with will — that in striving and sorrow they might still awaken the Weave of the world.
Even the beasts and trees were not bereft of gift, for in all living things a fragment of the Song abides, whether it be heard or forgotten.
Yet as all blessings may be turned to bane, so too was this. For in the dark hollows of Elarion, where Vaelthar's whispers lingered, some hearts grew attuned to the Dissonance. They wove the Song to ruin, binding it in chains of pride and wrath. Thus were born the Corrupted, and their arts became a blight upon the earth.
So passed the ages, and kingdoms rose and fell like waves upon the shore. The knowledge of the Songs waned among Men, until few could hear their faintest strains. Those who could were named Mages, for they wove fragments of the ancient harmony into works of wonder and might. But even among them, the taint of the Dissonant lay ever waiting.