Time passed like a breeze through the leaves. Kael and Lior grew up under Tribal's watchful eye and Alaya's silent love. They walked among the rivers, touched the winds, heard the whispers of the stones. They learned. They observed. And they created. Everything Tribal knew about the earth, about vibration, about the language of the invisible, he taught them with patience. And Alaya... Alaya nourished them from the inside out.
She didn't just guide them: she listened to them. She knew that each held a distinct world within themselves.
Kael, the one with fiery eyes, sought to understand fire not to warm, but to dominate. Lior, with a serene gaze, saw beauty in structures. He touched things with care, as if everything had a soul. While Kael jumped over the rivers, Lior listened to their song.
Tribal loved them. But in silence, he preferred Lior. Not out of malice, but because Lior reminded him of Elshua. And Tribal still carried longing.
Kael noticed. He said nothing. But he felt it. He felt it in Tribal's pauses. In the glances that lasted longer with Lior. In the smiles given in haste. The silence grew like a weed.
One afternoon, Kael and Lior were disputing a creation: a totem made of stone and vibration. Kael wanted it to burn from within. Lior said it should shine by itself.
"Fire goes out," said Lior. "But the light remains."
"Light hides," retorted Kael. "Fire answers."
The debate became a dispute. The dispute turned to anger. Kael lost control and with a gesture, wounded Lior. Not out of absolute malice, but impulse. A burst of energy, a tear in the air.
Lior fell. He bled.
The ground shook.
Alaya screamed.
Tribal arrived too late.
Kael, trembling, stood motionless.
"I... that wasn't... I..."
But no words could free him from what he had done.
Tribal knelt beside Lior. He pressed the wound with his hands. Tears streamed down his silent face.
Lior survived. But something inside him was never the same again.
That night, Tribal and Alaya looked at the sky. There were no stars, only silence. It was there that they made the decision. Without words. Just the understanding between two ancestral spirits: There would be no more children.
The earth felt the decision. The wind changed direction. The animals fell silent. Alaya, immortal, remained serene. But in her eternal womb, nothing would germinate anymore. The light that was once born there... now only watched.
Kael withdrew. He spent ages trying to forgive himself. He wandered through the valleys, listening to ancient whispers; Akasha still spoke. But now, Kael resisted. He already knew the price of impulse.
Lior, with his body marked and his spirit firm, walked with Alaya. He still created. He still loved. The idea was his:
"Let us form others... not like us... but with freedom."
Kael agreed.
"As we were created... but with their own seeds."
And so, together, Kael and Lior created the first humans. Not from clay, but with energy and intention. They breathed life into luminous forms. And these forms... began to multiply on their own.
And Tribal saw.
And Alaya felt.
And the two, sitting on the edge of time, witnessed the beginning of humanity. The children who came after, came with questions, with desire, with hunger and light. Kael and Lior began to guide them. And the world truly began to take shape.
The creation was complete. But the drama of the gods was only just beginning.