Night fell over the Great Pyramids located in the northeast of the Southern Continent.
There, three pyramids stood side by side, their monumental size dwarfing any structure visible across the endless horizon.
In the distance, the shadows of the pyramids stretched over a winding river that, despite the starless sky, shimmered with an ethereal glow.
Between the pyramids and the river, scattered torchlights began to pierce the darkness, revealing the outline of a bustling town.
The flickering flames painted the pyramids' long shadows in hues of orange and gold. Mud-brick buildings emerged in the glow, some rising three, even four stories tall. Across the river, more fires sparked to life, mirroring the first, until both banks shimmered with movement and light.
From the farthest edges of the river to the very base of the pyramids, the glow of the awakening city pushed against the shadows, breathing life into the night.
At the peak of the tallest pyramid—a towering giant of ancient stone—a translucent triangular tip caught the rising light, reflecting it faintly, as though the monument itself had begun to wake.
Inside the pyramid to the left of the golden-tipped giant, a vast hall stretched under an amber-colored chandelier. Its stone walls were lined with towering shelves, each groaning under the weight of books bound in aged animal leather.
In the shadows between the shelves, two figures moved silently, sorting from a mountain of old tomes stacked behind them.
One was an elderly man, appearing in his mid-seventies.
The other was a young woman, barely past the threshold of her early twenties.
As she stepped into the warm glow of the chandelier, her hazel skin gleamed softly under the orange light. Her long black hair fell like a silk curtain down her back, and her deep brown eyes shimmered with unrelenting curiosity.
She wore a cropped garment, woven from light desert fabric and embroidered with delicate floral patterns, exposing her abdomen. Around her bare midriff rested a finely wrought belt of gold-inlaid jewelry that shimmered with every breath she took.
She picked a few books from the pile, flipping through their pages while humming an old tune.
"Slacking off again?" came a deep, weathered voice from the shadows behind her.
The old man stepped into the light. A wrap of faded white cloth draped across one shoulder and tied at the waist, exposing his lean, time-worn abdomen. His skin was a deep, polished ebony, and his short black hair curled tightly against his head. His golden eyes glinted with quiet amusement as he approached.
But upon closer look, one detail stood out above all—both the girl and the old man bore feline ears atop their heads, twitching ever so slightly in the still air.
"I am just taking a short break, old grampie," the girl said, not taking her eyes off the book in her hands.
The old man, her teacher, only smiled.
He didn't mind her uncouth manner. Standing beside her, he glanced down at the page she was reading.
[Records of the First People], written in the old Felidian script.
The ancient Felidian language used a complex series of pictographic images to convey meaning. One group of symbols could hold entire volumes of interpretation, stretching endlessly in nuance.
Though it was once revered as the first written language, its impracticality led to its eventual decline.
Hardly anyone bothered to learn it anymore—except for scholars like the old man.
"Hmmm…" he hummed, reading alongside her. After a moment, his brow raised.
"I didn't teach you how to read this particular text," he said.
The girl's shoulders tensed for just an instant. Sweat began to bead lightly on her forehead.
"I… learned to decipher it a little…" she replied, eyes still fixed on the page.
"Really now…" he said, his tone amused, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her.
Then, without warning, he asked, "What does the first part of the left page say?"
"Uh? Uhhhh…"
Caught off guard, the girl froze, struggling for words.
The old man closed his eyes, a smug expression forming on his face as he prepared to gloat over his clever trap.
But then, to his surprise, she answered:
"It talks about the Six Ancient Ones… how they left for the heavens and beyond, and how they built the grand wonders of our world—blessing it with many gifts before their departure."
The old man fell silent. His golden eyes blinked once.
She had gotten it right.
"That is correct… Well done," he said at last, offering her a rare note of praise.
Then a cheeky smile crept across his face.
"Now read the rest."
…
She didn't respond.
After a long pause, she looked up at him with a defeated expression.
The old man burst into laughter.
The girl could only huff in frustration. She had indeed managed to decipher the first part—but only hoped to use it as a clever excuse to sneak a break.
He sat down beside her.
"Do you want to listen to the story?" he asked.
Her eyes lit up instantly. That meant she wouldn't have to work—at least not for a while. Still, she masked her excitement behind a composed expression.
"Yes. I would love to," she replied softly.
Her intentions were as clear as sunlight to him, but he said nothing. He simply took the book from her hands as she settled across from him, eager to listen.
—--
He began.
"Long ago… before even the oldest memories, before fire, before language… The First People walked this world.
They shaped the earth as easily as we mold clay. They carved mountains, parted rivers, and made the stars their companions.
We call them the Ancient Ones, though they never gave themselves that name. The old inscriptions speak of them as Inheritors of the Stars… and Bearers of Heaven's Light."
His voice echoed softly through the hall.
"They built wonders that we cannot replicate. Great bridges that spanned seas with no supports. Towers that reached the clouds. Cities that hung upside down, and yet never fell. And the pyramids… ah, yes…"
He raised his hand, gesturing vaguely above them.
"These pyramids. They say each was touched by the Six—the gods and goddesses the First People once revered. Three gods, three goddesses. Their names… unknown. Their faces… lost."
The girl's eyes drifted upward as though she could see through the ceiling, to the great structure above them.
He continued.
"But even gods must sleep, it seems.
One day, the First People vanished. Some say they ascended to the stars. Others say they fled… from something darker.
And when they vanished, the stars went with them.
Only a dozen stars remained in the sky.
And thus began the Age of Abandonment."
The warmth in his voice faded slightly. A stillness crept into the room.
"The sun itself dimmed, The world itself did not end… but its voice grew quiet. Yet still, Life endured, but without warmth. We call it the Dark Age."
It was during this time… that the Seraphins appeared."
He paused, watching the girl. She was still listening still holding her breath.
"They were not born as we are. They emerged from stone and silence, fully grown, in the ruins left behind by the First People. No parents. No childhood. Just… appearing out of dust.
They were strange, even to the Felidians of that era. Some had horns like twisted crowns. Others bore skin like dusk, or snow, or polished stone. Their hair flowed like liquid metal. And their eyes…"
He narrowed his own golden eyes.
"…Their eyes shimmered like glass, as though they saw something, something none of us ever could."
He leaned back slightly, letting the words settle.
"They spoke wisdom older than the mountains. And they guided us. Under their teachings, cities rose. Words were written. Iron was forged. And Art was born. This was the beginning of the Age of Inheritance."
He gestured to the book.
"Our people. The Felidians. And alongside us, the Canidians, and Ursidians. Three people. Three races. none knew of our origins … only that we walked the earth after the Ancient Ones, and that we resemble them, so much so that some believe we are their children… or perhaps, their shadows."
The girl finally spoke, her voice soft. "But… not the Seraphins?"
He shook his head.
"They are different. Not born of flesh and womb. They came from the ruins like spirits given form. Perhaps they were left behind to guide our people. We do not know."
He turned the page slowly.
"In time, they lived among us. Not many but enough. They never formed clans, never raised banners. That is why they were chosen to lead. Their wisdom, and their neutrality, made them the only ones all could trust."
He looked at her carefully.
"And that… is how history began."