The cynosure between yon and yonder vibrated in dissonance for the tiniest fraction of a second. It was a luminous disruption, dimmed only by the intense light flooding out of the portal. Naught but a subtle ripple of the softest and smoothest nature gave away the rupture of the Twine. A minuscule speck, barely perceptible, drifted into the darkness of the cosmos.
He thought he saw it from the corner of his eye. But surely, this kind of thinking was preposterous, not in a million years has that happened, he had never punched a hole into the delicate fabric of the arcane… but his confidence faltered.
The mote —bathed in radiance and forged from power— meandered freely but soberly through the planes until its arrival to the realm of the material, where it slowly gained momentum. Shielded by its arcane nature, the mote underwent a transformative, dizzing dance, a metamorphosis no one could have ever expected, or foreseen. Of its own accord, the mote folded upon itself once and again, creating light and establishing its own gravitational pull.
An alien sensation clawed at him relentlessly —a crippling anxiety; and albeit he adamantly resisted his emotions (which titans are not entitled to), this disquietude slowly asserted itself in the very nexus of his consciousness. The more he reflected on it, the more certain he was: a consequential deviation from his usual precision had transpired.
The pull of the mote coerced elements to swirl and blend around the small fragment of Twine, creating a cocoon while and feeding its ravaging nucleus. In exchange, the strand of arcana gave the elements form and purpose. Together, they shaped the outset of a small planet.
Doubt and lucubration were granted confirmation a few hundred years later, when the harmony of the Material Plane was disturbed by a less than infrequent imbalance— A new, life-sustaining planet was unaccounted for and did not hold a Divine Brand.
The rapacious planetoid grew alarmingly fast, pulling all kinds of primordial matter from the elemental planes with ethereal limbs. Oceans roared into existence and churned pugnaciously; mountains soared into steep and serrated ranges; the air pulsed with lurid lightning and deafening thunder; and fire seared and sealed the nascent land. The Elemental Chaos reigned supreme.
It was too late, he was wrong, and had been arrogant. There was no way to deny it. He had failed. Thousands of years of precision and scrupulousness gone to waste with a smidgen of Arcane Twine, now an entire planet.
Halcyon arrived, bringing a lull to the elemental frenzy. Yet, the fragment of Twine, imbued with an eerie awareness, continued to feast on the magical energies of the cosmos; stressing the delicate balance crafted by the Gods.
Summoned to answer for his unintended creation, he faced not reproach but mirth among the cosmic assembly. Laughter and amusement echoed, surprising him. Acknowledging the imbalance, he accepted accountability. No punishment ensued; instead, a pact was forged. this place, henceforth named Irëdeule, would be severed from other planes, and its ethereal limbs were to be free to feed on whatever they could. The covenant, minted ‘The Alloy’, memorialized the Twine’s capacity to meld and transform with its surroundings.
Some aeons later, in the burgeoning silence of Irëdeule’s surface the first bird sang —a harbinger of the untold tales set to unfold.
