Noahcyricus
Caereth's Ancient Lore of Eferendale
At the dawn's edge of time-before calendars, before crowns-there stood Eferendale, a celestial city raised among the Hills of Glory, now broken and renamed the Bonefang Mountains. There dwelled the Song Maidens and Song Brothers, beings not born but woven, whose voices shaped reality itself.
Their song was not music as mortals know it.
It was rune-bound poetry, layered with deep magic-verses that etched mountains, refrains that carved rivers, harmonies that breathed life into flesh and flame. Over centuries uncounted, they sang Caereth into being: its lands, its skies, its countless forms of life. When at last they believed the world complete, they descended to rule it gently, to reveal their wonder through new creations and peaceful dominion.
But perfection is a fragile harmony.
One among the Song Maidens-Lediah-found the world wanting. She hungered for more lands, more voices, more lives shaped by her will. She gathered others to her cause, and together they bent the song beyond its bounds. The harmony fractured. Verses clashed. The deep magic slipped its careful measure, and chaos bled into creation.
From the broken song arose rebellion.
The creations of the Song People-then at the height of their power-turned against their makers. A war followed, terrible and world-scarring, fought not with steel alone but with unmaking words and shattered refrains. The earth remembers it still, though mortals do not.
Eferendale fell.
To end the ruin, the remaining Song People buried their celestial realm beneath stone, silence, and forgetting. They sealed it away, not only from the world-but from memory itself. Ages passed. Names faded. And so Eferendale was lost.
Or so it was believed.
For though the city lies hidden, the songs endure. Faint. Broken. Calling still. The verses the Song Maidens once composed now echo through stone and water, reaching toward their creations, begging to be remembered.
To answer that call is to swear