The world, as it is known by all, began not in an instant but over many centuries, when the land was still raw and the skies shapeless. Before existence of any kind, five divine gods roamed around the world, gods who took the shape of mortal men, yet wielded unimaginable powers.
In that era, the gods; Serathena, the goddess of beauty; Arames, the god of immortality; Vores, the god of magic; Apades, the god of wisdom; and Zhor, the god of the sun, grew agitated with the void. They coveted reflections of themselves, beings who would admire and serve them.
None can say exactly when their breath conceived life, for in that age, there was no reckoning of days. Some argue it was ten thousand years ago, when the first humans awoke. Some say it was five thousand years ago. They were frangible, with a short lifespan compared to their creators. Yet the existence of humankind did not satiate the gods' ravenous desire for legacy.
Over centuries, the gods endeavoured to create a more perfect race. Serathena crafted them in beauty: skin pale as alabaster and dark as obsidian. Their eyes were a deep shade of red. Their blood was dark molten gold. Their hair was dark midnight and pale silver. Arames gave them immortal lives that would never wither. Vores planted magic into their blood. Apades gifted them with wisdom so they could rule. And Zhor made them exempt from flame. Thus were birthed the elves: light and dark creatures more magnificent than their makers.
In time, the elves turned their focus toward the humans. What began as stewardship turned into supremacy, and then thraldom. They shaped their empires across realms, claiming mortals and other beings as their slaves. Their aspiration knew no measure, and they were given the chance to fight at their creators' side to conquer six more realms from other gods.
But as the elves' powers soared, so did their haughtiness. The gods, once gratified by their creations, began to fear them.
Led by two powerful elf kings; Gravhan, the King of the dark elves, and Aegnor, sovereign of the light elves, they rose for war. Gravhan fought Zhor himself. With hands blazing from divine fire, he drove his fist through the sun god's heart.
Zhor died with a searing cry that split the sky open. From the wound in his heart, three gigantic eggs scaled in dark crimson fell out of his chest. Even the elves were unaware of what lay within those eggs.
When Gravhan laid his hands on the scorching eggs, he tethered his magic to them, and they broke apart. Three creatures flared out, small as hounds but with wings as broad as a man's arm. Their scales shone dark gold, their eyes red as blood. Dragons had come into their world.
In the centuries that followed, the elves forged a strong bond with these beasts. They nurtured them, tamed them, and learned to match their fury. Continents upon continents fell beneath the onslaught of dragons. None, not even the old gods, could stand against them now.
But amidst the chaos, something ancient and powerful watched them. Something never confined to flesh or any form. It moved through the trees, whispering to them, and slipped between fissures of stone. It was older than any god, older than time itself. It was called Nameless one. And Nameless one came to the elven kings in the hour of conquest in an ancient voice neither male nor female. Nor could the elves destroy it.
"I will depart this world forever and grant you the freedom you seek if you offer me nine mortal brides to serve me. Their blood would be used to honour my name."
And so, in the year 230 AC, the search for the Nameless one brides began.