With the land in Little Garden secured and his foothold anchored, Cinder knew their work was far from finished. A pantheon of gods could not stand alone in an empty world. Myth demanded people, creation demanded children beyond gods.
He turned to his blazing offspring, the Great Ones who circled him, each flame a unique spark of his essence. Their fires shifted restlessly, hungry to prove themselves.
"It is time," Cinder declared, his voice heavy with command. "You will each shape a race. Born from your flame, bearing your nature, they will walk my universe and give weight to our names. Go, and forge."
His children surged forth eagerly into the vast expanse of his universe, their flames carving forms from nothingness. One by one, they brought forth races unlike any that had existed before.
From the Black Flame came shadow bats, wings spread wide, their bodies woven from absence. They fed not on flesh, but on the concept of existence itself, making their prey fade and be forgotten.
From the Death Flame came skeleton crows, bone-winged and hollow-eyed. They flew freely between life and death, messengers of endings who perched where the veil was thinnest.
From the Deathblight Flame came floating eyes, grotesque and ever-staring. To meet their gaze was to see one's own end reflected mercilessly, a vision that could not be denied.
From the Omen Flame came thorned cats, sleek and cruel. Their very presence cursed those who beheld them, dooming them to never receive what was rightfully theirs.
From the Ghostflame came spirit hawks, radiant and solemn. They carried the souls of the dead within their wings, giving the departed eternal rest in flight.
From the Blue Flame came wolves, shifting and strange. At times they were beasts of flesh and fur; at others, they were living spells, woven from pure sorcery.
From the Magic Flame came spirits of magic, formless and radiant. They were not separate from sorcery but part of it, threads of the world's very arcane weave given life.
From the Holy Flame came winged cubes, their forms adorned with ten unblinking eyes and a hundred radiant wings. Wherever they drifted, the world was purified, corruption burned away.
From the Dragon Flame came drakes, scaled and wrathful. Their blood burned like molten fire, and their breath carried fury itself, igniting wrath in all who felt it.
From the Chaos Flame came demons, twisted and ever-changing. They carried the power to corrupt, to warp flesh and spirit alike, reshaping all they touched.
From the Profaned Flame came endless pythons, serpents that grew without limit so long as they consumed. Each meal only stretched their coils further, no end to their hunger.
From the Taker's Flame came hyenas, snarling and cruel. They fed not on meat but on life force itself, devouring vitality with every bite.
From the Bloodflame came sharks, sleek predators of crimson tide. They could dissolve into blood itself, slipping inside their prey to devour them from within.
From the Rot Flame came plague insects, crawling and buzzing with decay. Where they swarmed, rot spread like wildfire, their bite carrying the curse of dissolution.
From the Gelmir Flame came lava rams, molten beasts with horns of stone and fire. To meet their burning eyes was to be consumed by greed, a hunger for more that could never be sated.
From the Flame of Perdition came panthers of forgetting, hunters whose prey never remembered they were there. They feasted on memory itself, stalking unnoticed even when beside their victim.
From the Messmerflame came serpents of living fire, their bodies endlessly coiling. As long as flame burned nearby, they could heal, their forms ever-renewed.
From the Flames of Slumber came dream pixies, delicate and elusive. They crept into the dreams of mortals, weaving fates in sleep, whispering visions that shaped destinies.
From the Flame Lightning came storm lizards, scaled and crackling with power. They harnessed lightning in their veins, striking with the fury of the tempest.
The world thrummed with life, filled with beasts of fire, shadow, and spirit. Each child's essence had been carved into a race, their legacies now alive.
But Cinder was not finished. He looked upon the new races with pride, yet he knew something was missing. These beings were powerful, alien, reflections of his children's flames — but none could bear the weight of shaping history. None could embody struggle, growth, or the fragile spark of will and none could connect his world to little gardens most important component human history.
So Cinder lifted one of his vast, burning hands and shaped a final race himself.
He formed them from clay and ash, from flesh and spirit, from weakness and resilience. Their forms were fragile compared to the gods and beasts, but within them he placed a gift no other possessed: the flame of self.
Thus were humans born, the last and greatest race of his mythology.
He looked upon them and spoke:
"Within you burns the fire of life. Not a god's flame, not a beast's hunger, but your own. Guard it, feed it, wield it — for this is pyromancy, the gift of your existence. The flame of self shall be your strength, your hope, your curse, and your weapon."
And so humanity arose in Cinder's universe, bearers of the fire within. Fragile, yet with potential vast enough to rival gods and after that he had each of his children created a thousand of their races as he did the same for humans after that he gathered all of the races created and scattered each group onto separate places on the endless earth and in the endless ocean in his world.