Before elves walked the soil or dragons filled the sky, before giants or satyrs or celestials breathed the air and studied the stars, there were two.
 

They were beings of incredible magic. But more than that, they were brothers—not by blood, but by heart—and in one another, they trusted. They were tethered at the hip by a bond stronger than love, and together, they created. They created worlds no man had walked, worlds of light and magic without borders or boundaries. 
 

And all was well between them.
 

The Realm of Vellichor began as a thought, nothing more than a vapor, and yet the ever-creative mind of Adoni refused to still. So, he sought his brother-at-heart to share his idea.

“Listen to me,” Adoni said. “There are things we have not yet explored, and my mind will not rest until I am certain I have brought these things to completion. Create with me and share in my glory.”
 

Orisis listened, and when his brother was finished, he met the idea with skepticism, for he was jealous of Adoni’s creative mind. “You will grow power-hungry,” he reasoned. “I am your brother. Do you not trust me? Create all you want, but let me destroy what I wish, for the one who creates must not decide what can be destroyed. Do this, and we will have balance.”
 

Adoni agreed to his brother’s request, and Vellichor was born.
 

Adoni and Orisis—the creator and the destroyer—worked together as one. The creator formed stone and salt, and the destroyer chipped it away until it fit like fragments of a puzzle. And so, there was Vellichor, and there was balance.
 

Then Adoni said to Orisis, “Why do we stop now? Let’s create life so we will not be alone.”
 

Adoni created life, and Orisis, always the sculptor, was given the power of death. What Adoni created, Orisis destroyed, and there was balance. 
 

Life filled Vellichor, from the giants of the islands to the dragons of the sky, and to his creations, Adoni gave the ability to create. His magic was a gift to all he loved. What Adoni gave, his creations multiplied. He gave the elves herbs, and with them, they made potions. To the wizards, he gave words, and with them, they made spells. Wood became ships, parchment became maps, numbers became mathematics, and Vellichor thrived. Every being alive possessed a magic they felt suited to, and every corner of the realm brimmed with new ideas and inventions. 
 

All of this pleased Adoni, but Orisis grew weary. Everything he destroyed was remade tenfold, each time returning stronger and more vibrant than before. No amount of death or hurt could smother the burning flame that was Vellichor. The more he thought about it, the more Orisis realized his own mistake. These new lives would soon overpower him, for they could create all they wished and he could not. Adoni had outsmarted him after all.
 

Orisis devised a plan. He went to the creatures of the realm—the alchemists and scholars, the wizards and beasts—and proposed an alliance. 
 

“Share your magic with me,” he persuaded, “and I will give you power over death. My hand of destruction will pass over you and your children, and you will become masters over darkness.”
 

His promise was tempting. Many creatures found they craved the security it offered, so they traded with Orisis. To him, they gave every kind of magic they’d learned; to them, he gave the touch of death. 
 

These were the creations of Orisis, the ones who traded their magic for service to the destroyer. They had no spells to whisper, no potions to brew, but with a single hand on the neck of their victim, they could steal a soul. They were called the afi, and with their touch, they cast creatures to Tophet—the home Orisis made for himself with his newfound magic. It was a place of tears and bruises, built for those whose magic threatened Orisis when they refused his offer.
 

When Adoni found out what Orisis had done, he broke through the gateway of Tophet and tore down all who stepped before him until he reached the throne where Orisis was seated.
 

“You defile my creations,” Adoni said, the tip of his blade aimed at the one he called “brother”. “You were permitted to destroy, but what you have done goes far beyond destruction. You will release my creatures and give back the magic you have stolen.”
 

But Orisis laughed, the sound cruel and twisted. “I will do no such thing. For the first time, I have made something important, and you will not touch what I have built.”
 

Adoni was filled with rage—the kind that burns when something one loves is taken from them—and with that rage, he created something he’d never created before: an army. He found those who refused Orisis, the elves of the mountains with arrows of steel and dragons with scales the color of snow, and from among them, he selected a leader.
 

Eliab was an elf with a heart that bled for Adoni, and so he was appointed as general of Adoni’s army. Eliab led his soldiers into a battle like none that had been recorded.

 

Thus, Adoni destroyed what Orisis created, and the fabric of the realm twisted in a way it was never designed to. All who had been imprisoned were released, and when the ash settled beneath the gateway of Tophet, Orisis, the god defeated, was left to sit alone in its remains.
 

But the battle had been costly. Lives were lost, and Adoni was deeply saddened by it. 
 

Adoni sent Eliab and the survivors from his army to an island called Sannir. There he instructed his general to build his Temple, and from the Temple, Adoni created the Dragon Pass. From cloud and rain, he formed a gateway of his own above the mountains of Sannir. He built a dwelling beyond the gateway, a place where the dragons could rest away from the evils of the realm, and through the Pass, he gave his magic. From now on, he would not give it freely.
 

The elves of Sannir had access to Adoni’s magic and were untouched by the destruction of Orisis. However, the rest of Vellichor was forgotten. 
 

There were a few ancients who found ways of keeping magic outside of Sannir, making gods of themselves from scraps of sorcery and remnants of war. They built empires, and the empires fell. They crafted weapons, and their weapons failed. The giver of magic no longer gave, and the destroyer would not let them succeed.
 

Because the one who creates should never destroy, and the one who destroys should never create. This is balance.