Chronicle of the Isola- Volume III

The Young World and the Age of Flame and Tide

After the War of the Five

When the War of the Five passed into silence and the echoes of divinity faded from the broken world, only one land endured.

The Isola remained — whole where all else was scarred, ringed by stilled waters and encircled by living flame. Beyond its borders lay only ruin and memory, a world reduced to salt, ash, and absence. Within it, life gathered once more beneath the watchful gaze of two gods alone.

Pyrion the Flamebearer and Thalyra the Lady of the Tides, wearied by war and chastened by loss, turned their attention to the mortals who yet survived. Whether their decree was born of mercy or of fear, none can say. But from that hour forward, the gods resolved that never again would unchecked divinity touch mortal hands.

Fire and Water — the twin forces of destruction and renewal — were sanctified as lawful powers, gifts measured and restrained. All else was cast out. The arts of Air, Earth, and Shadow — remnants of the fallen gods — were named corruption, blamed for the unmaking of the Old World.

Thus began the Age of Flame and Tide, when the Isola became the cradle of the Young World, and divine presence was replaced by law.

The Divine Covenant

To prevent the return of chaos, Pyrion and Thalyra forged between them the Covenant of Balance — a binding oath to govern creation as one will, flame tempered by tide, tide hardened by flame. No god would rule alone again. No power would rise unchecked.

Yet the gods no longer walked openly among mortals. To enforce the Covenant upon the world below, they shaped a final instrument of will: the Sacra Vigilia — the Holy Watchers.

The Vigilia were born from the remnants of the faithful, chosen and remade through divine rite. They were neither wholly mortal nor divine, but something bound between — vessels of law given flesh. To them was granted authority absolute: to judge, to command, to purge.

Thus the Vigilia became both church and sword.

Their vigil was eternal. Their mercy, deliberate absence. What they decreed became law; what they forbade became heresy; and what they sanctified became survival itself. Through their rule, memory was shaped as much as faith. The names of the lost gods faded from record, then from speech, and finally from thought — preserved only in half-remembered myths and forbidden whispers

The Forbidden Gods

Vaelith, Morghain, and Nytheris — once divine pillars of the world — were recast in doctrine as the Forbidden Three.

To speak their names became blasphemy. To invoke their domains was death.

In the hymns of the Sacra Vigilia, they are remembered only as the Unmaking, the False Balance, the Three Who Turned. It is taught that they sought dominion over creation, that their rebellion nearly ended all life, and that their punishment was just and eternal.

Vaelith, they say, was bound within the upper storms, his will scattered upon the wind.
Morghain was buried beneath the deepest roots of the world, crushed by her own obstinacy.
Nytheris was sealed beyond the veil of dreams, imprisoned in endless shadow where truth can no longer harm the living.

All lingering traces of their influence are named temptation — whispers of heresy that lead mortals from the path of flame and tide. Wind, stone, and shadow are declared impure not for what they are, but for who once claimed them.

The Age of Flame and Tide

Under the watchful eyes of Pyrion and Thalyra, the Isola flourished.

Cities rose along the coasts, their towers crowned with firelight reflected in calm seas. Harbors became sanctuaries. Forges burned day and night. Water and flame shaped every craft, every rite, every war. The old magics were forgotten, erased from teaching and tradition alike, replaced by sanctioned miracles and regulated power.

Peace endured — but not through grace.

The Sacra Vigilia watched without rest, for they taught that even a single spark of forbidden power could unravel the world anew. The hunt for heretics began: those touched by wind that answered too readily, by stone that remembered names, by shadows that whispered truths unapproved by law.

Inquisitions followed. Purges cleansed the faithful. Silence spread.

And so, in time, the people of the Isola learned new meanings for old words.
They called obedience balance.
They called fear order.
They called freedom chaos.

And beneath the unbroken flame and the tranquil tide, the Young World learned to endure.