From the eternal heavens, the gods gathered in the Hall of Divine Will, an ethereal place beyond time, wreathed in clouds shimmering with starlight. Their eyes, glowing with ancient power, looked down upon the world they had crafted with boundless care—a world once rich with life, balance, and beauty. But now, that world writhed beneath them in chaos and despair.
Solias, the radiant lord of the sun with a mane of blazing light, was the first to break the silence. His voice, powerful but laden with sorrow, flooded the chamber as he spoke, "The earth burns with the fires of war. The creatures we've gifted with strength have turned that strength against one another. Kingdoms fall to ruin, forests are razed, and rivers carry blood instead of life."
Lira, the goddess of wisdom and counsel, her eyes deep as ancient wells, nodded solemnly. "The delicate harmony we set has been broken. Magic is wielded for vengeance, not protection. Once-benevolent creatures now hunt their kin. Crime festers like a plague. We watch men betray neighbors for greed and power."
Veyr, the tempest god, his stormy presence shifting with every word, clenched his fists. "We gave them gifts to nurture, to thrive. Instead, they have used them to destroy. This world has become a battlefield of ceaseless, senseless conflict. Perhaps it is time to cleanse—destroy and remake what we have lost."
The tension in the hall thickened as the gods mulled Veyr's grim proposal. Their gazes flicked between each other, the weight of the decision pressing heavily. Annihilate the flawed creation, wipe the slate clean, and begin anew? Or hold onto hope for a world mired in suffering?
Among them, Althar, the god of judgment, his voice cold yet measured, argued, "Destruction is an irreversible act. We must consider if there is any hope left in this creation. Are the mortals not capable of redemption? In their defiance and failure lies a lesson—one we must not hasten to erase."
The goddess Nira, entrusted with the weave of life, spoke with weary compassion, "Even in darkness, there are sparks of light. Some strive for peace amidst the ruin, some protect without falter. Should we not grant them a chance to shape their destiny, rather than smother it in final judgment?"
From the shadowed corner, murmurs arose. Some gods called for immediate cleansing, citing the relentless brutality spreading across the lands. Others recalled times before, when humanity still clung to hope, when harmony seemed within reach.
Then, from the center of the assembly, a stillness emerged as Ilyon, the Father of all gods and the eldest among them, rose. His presence radiated calm wisdom, the weight of countless eons etched into his serene face.
"Listen well," Ilyon's voice commanded silence. "We are gods, beings of infinite wisdom and boundless understanding. Our gifts have sown seeds of greatness... and seeds of destruction. This world is our creation, but it is theirs to live in."
He paused, eyes lowering as if peering into the very soul of the earth below. "Destruction is easy and final; it is the rule of endings. Yet, creation—the cycle of hope and struggle—is far more intricate. If we take away their chance to rise, can we truly claim to have honored the gift of life?"
His gaze swept over the gods, drawing their thoughts into his own. "There is still time. We can bind our power not to judgment, but to guidance. We will send a champion to this broken land—a being forged with every skill, every wisdom from our realms. One who will understand both the strength and the fragility of this world."
A hush fell over the hall as the gods contemplated this. Lira stepped forward in quiet support, "Not a god, not a beast of war or magic, but one born to learn, to adapt, and to unite. Someone who can bridge the worlds between us—all creatures—and make peace more than a dream."
Veyr, now calmer, nodded slowly. "A mortal hero, like no other. A light to pierce this gathering darkness, if such a thing is possible."
Solias' flames flickered brightly in agreement. "If they fail, the earth will fall, and we will reap what we have sown. But if they succeed, perhaps this fractured creation can once again flourish."
Ilyon raised his hand, a radiant symbol of divine authority. "So be it. Let this be a pact, a final hope for the world below. Let the hero be born, gifted with the very essence of our powers. Let them carry the burden—and the promise—of all we have made."
From the chamber, light surged, weaving a storm of colors and energies drawn from each god. From the wisdom of Lira, the strength of Veyr, the courage of Solias, and the compassion of Nira, the essence coalesced into a single radiant spark — destined to become the hero.
Far below, on the world ravaged by war and crime, flames devoured villages, armies clashed like thunder, and the cries of the innocent were swallowed by the chaos. Bandits robbed the helpless, sorcerers unleashed storms of wrath, and kings schemed from blood-stained thrones.
The Council of Gods had spoken, but one question remained heavy in the starlit Hall of Divine Will—the question of where to send the chosen hero.
Solias, god of the sun, spoke first, his voice like a burning flame. "We must send him among the humans. They possess quick minds and fierce ambition. Our boy must learn to survive against their chaos."
Lira, goddess of wisdom, shook her head slightly. "Humans are unstable, but so are many others. Elves, with their long lives and deep magic, could teach patience and balance. The boy could learn such things there."
Veyr, storm god, added with a crackle, "The dwarves dwell in their strongholds, loyal and steadfast. They know craft, endurance, and loyalty. The boy would learn strength that can forge peace."
A towering figure, the giant god Brakk, rumbled, his voice low and shaking the hall. "Or among the beasts, fierce and wild. Might tempered by nature. There lies raw power that the hero must understand."
The debate raged, echoing like thunder and strife through eternity. Every god argued the merits and risks of each race—their strengths, their flaws, their history.
Suddenly, from a shadowed corner stepped Erythos, god of time and space. His calm voice silenced the tumult like a gentle breeze. "There is a place unlike any other that might harbor hope—a small band of souls calling themselves the Rebellion."
The gods turned, curious.
Erythos continued, "They travel from village to village in the Great Forest's shadow, helping the oppressed, setting right wrongs where law and order falter. But these heroes grow old, their fight nearly done. Among them are five: a human, an elf, a dwarf, a beastman, and a witch."
Lira's eyes brightened. "United despite their differences—an embodiment of hope that transcends bloodlines."
Erythos nodded. "Among them, the human and elf bear a secret—they expect a child. One untouched by the strife of their world. If we place our hero within her womb, he will be born into unity, carrying the strength of all races."
The gods fell into a profound silence. The possibility stirred a new kind of hope—a chance for the hero not just to survive the world, but to change it from the very beginning.
Brakk rumbled softly, "The child of unity. A fitting cradle for the savior."
Solias's flames softened. "Then it is decided. The hero shall be born from the Rebellion. A bloodline of peace—holding the future in their veins."