(As Taught)
In the beginning, the world did not know how to hold its shape.
Land crashed against land without peace. The sky leaned too heavily upon the earth. The sound drifted where it did not belong. Things lived, but they did not last.
Out of this chaos, Valenor was set in place.
It was not built with hands. It was not won in war. It was given its limits, so the world would finally learn how to stand.
Where Valenor sits today, the ground learned to be still. Stone remembered its weight. Distance began to mean something. The air grew quiet enough that every breath felt like a gift.
This is why the land here does not move. This is why even the wind follows the rules. This is why Valenor remains while other names are forgotten.
The elders say the world has tried many shapes before this one.
But only Valenor was allowed to keep its form...
But even a steady land must be protected. In the old days, danger had no voice. It came without sound or sign, showing itself only after the harm was done. People learned too late. They moved too slowly. Fear grew faster than hope.
And so, the Sun was split in two.
The light was not destroyed, for the sun is needed...
But it was divided — so that the warning would arrive before the danger did.
From this choice, the first Knights rose...
They did not call themselves heroes. They did not claim to know the truth. They were called The Order of the Broken Dawn. Their job was not to end the darkness, but to make sure it arrived in a way that people could survive.
They learned to walk without shaking. To arrive without being seen. To wait until the perfect moment to act.
Where the Knights walked, chaos learned to hold back...
Valenor became safe, not because the danger was gone, but because the people were ready.
But no land stays perfect forever...
At the northern edge of Valenor lies a forest that the world wasn't able to finish.
Mist gathers there even when there is no rain. Paths forget where they were supposed to go. Trees live longer than anyone can remember.
Those who go inside do not always come back. Those who come back are not the same as when they left.
The people named it the Mistwood, and they learned to speak of it with care...
The children asked,"Why didn't the Knights burn the forest?"
"Because it's a curse. A reminder that Valenor is not perfect." An Oracle replied.
Some places stay alive because they are kept apart, not because they are defeated.
The Mistwood remains — watched, bordered, and avoided.
It is a reminder that some things do not want to be fixed...
As the years passed, the people of Valenor learned.
They did not learn through laws or magic. They learned through habit. People walked with care because being careful kept them safe.
They looked closely at where they went, because being messy cost too much.
This was not a religion. It was just how things were done. Children were not taught why to act this way; they were taught how.
In this way, Valenor did not grow powerful.
It grew steady...
The Oracle's speak of a sign that has not yet arrived.
They say that when the land forgets its ways, when the Mistwood rages, a Dove will appear.
It will fly where the mist is thin. It will cross into forbidden places without making a sound. It will not speak, for words are too heavy.
The Dove will not bring answers. It will only lift the weight of things that have become too hard to carry.
Until that day, Valenor waits — not with hope, but with patience.
As long as the Knights stand, As long as the forest stays behind its border, As long as the people live the way they were taught,
Valenor will survive.
Other lands might look for their lost history. Other people might cry for what they have lost. But Valenor does not ask questions. Valenor simply continues.
There was nothing before this that needs to be remembered.
And there is no need for anything to come after
"So long as The Rule is Held."
————
The lecture ended the way they always did.
"…and so long as Valenor follows The Rule, we will survive where others failed."
The teacher said, his voice steady. He let the words sit in the air, as if they were facts that could not be questioned.
The classroom was silent. Not because the students were moved, but because silence was expected. Rows of wooden desks faced the board, each one marked with scratches from bored students over many years. Sunlight shone through tall windows, and dust drifted in the light. Outside, a bell rang to mark the hour.
The teacher straightened his coat.
"Never forget, we are lucky. Valenor was chosen to remain. Others were not."
He said, his voice filled with pride. A few students nodded. Some believed it. Others did it out of habit.
"Our Knights stand so you can sit here safely. Our forests are contained so your homes are not in danger. This is not luck. This is our legacy."
He closed his book with a soft thud.
"That will be all for today."
Chairs scraped against the floor immediately. Students began talking before the teacher had even reached the door. He stopped for a moment, his hand on the frame, and said without turning around:
"Honor the Light."
Then he left.
The room relaxed.
Lucen sat in the center row. He did not move.
His desk was plain. No carvings. No initials. His hands rested flat against the wood, his fingers spread apart, as if he were checking to see if the desk was still real.
'Set in place huh'
The idea felt unpleasant.
He had listened to the lecture. He always did. He could repeat every word — the creation, the Knights, the Mistwood, the promise of the Dove. He knew when to nod and when to look proud.
But none of it stayed with him. Not because it was a lie, but because it felt... finished.
Stories about lasting forever and endurance always sounded like they were told by people who hadn't actually struggled.
Lucen looked around the room. Most students were already gone. A few stayed in groups, laughing about dinner or their next test. Normal things. Safe things.
He wondered how many of them believed what they were taught — and how many just found it easier not to think about it.
'Valenor continues, the teacher had said.'
Lucen smiled and tilted his head slightly.
"So do weeds."
He whispered. The words surprised him. He wasn't angry or bitter. The thought just arrived, calm and clear. Living a long time, by itself, meant nothing.
He leaned back, looking out the window. The sky was pale. Somewhere far to the north, past the clean roads and the watch posts, the Mistwood waited.
Contained. Bordered. Avoided.
The way people spoke about it made it sound like a favor they were doing for the forest, rather than a threat.
He felt a familiar hollowness in his chest. It wasn't sharp or painful. It was just there — like an empty room.
There was a time when that emptiness had been loud. Now it was easy to ignore. That, more than anything else, bothered him.
When Lucen finally stood up, his chair made a loud scrape. The sound felt too sharp in the quiet room. He paused, then moved the chair back until it sat perfectly under the desk. Then he frowned.
'Why did I bother? No one was watching... Still, I think leaving it messy felt wrong.'
He put his bag over his shoulder and walked into the hallway.
The academy halls were tall and narrow. Students flowed through them like water, avoiding each other without thinking. A shoulder turned. A step shortened. A pause.
Lucen noticed. He always noticed.
It wasn't fear that made him watch. It was a strange feeling of being an outsider — like watching a habit he didn't remember starting.
As he walked, pieces of conversation drifted past.
"…my brother says the Knights are looking for more people—"
"…Mistwood patrols are doubling this month—"
"…they wouldn't let us past the markers, even with a note—"
Most of it meant nothing to him. Until he heard something new.
Near the stairs, a group of older students had gathered. Their voices were low. They kept looking around to see if anyone was listening.
Lucen slowed down.
"…you heard, right?" one of them whispered.
"Heard what?"
"About The Knight of the Broken Dawn. Third rank."
Lucen stopped walking.
The student hesitated, then whispered even lower. "From the western watch. He didn't come back."
"That happens. Patrols get lost." another muttered.
"Not like this. No signal. No body. No report. They won't even say he's dead yet." the first one insisted.
"Where did he disappear again?"
The answer was quiet. "Near the edge of the Mistwood."
"A high-ranking Knight doesn't just vanish. Not there." someone said.
"No. They don't." the first agreed.
Lucen felt something stir inside him. It wasn't fear or excitement. It felt like a piece of a puzzle fitting into place.
'The Mistwood doesn't care about rank, huh.'
He started walking again before they noticed him. His footsteps were quiet on the stone. Behind him, the whispers continued, growing more dramatic with every second.
Ahead, the academy doors were open, letting the sunlight in.
Lucen stepped outside without stopping. And for a reason he couldn't name, that felt wrong.