as told in the lost scrolls of Evandelle
Before crowns were forged and men learned to name their gods, the world was a single breath — endless and still.
From that stillness, the First Light was born, and from its divided rays emerged five beings: the Auryn — the world's first sentinels.
They were not born of flesh, nor bound by mortal will.
They were the will — fragments of balance that gave motion to existence.
Each embodied a force that the newborn world could not live without.
At their heart was the Crimson Auryn, the Flame of Will.
He was the spark that stirred creation from silence — the first to choose, the first to dream.
It was said that when he spoke, mountains rose to listen, and when he willed, the stars themselves took their place in the heavens.
The other four followed his light, not by command, but by reverence — for it was his fire that gave their gifts meaning.
The Verdant Auryn, the Healer, looked to the Crimson as one looks to the sun — for without the will to endure, there could be no renewal.
The Cerulean Auryn, the Listener, found voice through the Crimson's flame — for his light gave memory to their echoes.
The Aureate Auryn, the Keeper of Hearts, danced to the rhythm of the Flame's pulse — the emotion that colored life itself.
And even the Umbral Auryn, the Silent Shadow, who feared the light above all things, bowed to him — for the Flame of Will gave purpose even to the dark.
For a time, they existed in harmony.
The Crimson walked among them like dawn through mist, his presence a promise that the world's balance would hold as long as he burned.
Together, they shaped the ages — mountains, rivers, the first men.
And for every act of creation, the Flame's fire dimmed, for to will the world into being was to give pieces of himself away.
But no light burns forever.
One day, the Crimson Auryn looked upon mankind — fragile, curious, unendingly restless — and saw in them a reflection of his own gift: the will to choose.
It was then he made his final decree.
"Let them inherit what I am. Let the world's fate belong to those who dare to rewrite it."
And with that, the Flame of Will fell into slumber, his essence scattering through the blood of kings and wanderers alike — sleeping within hearts that dared to defy destiny.
The other four mourned.
The Verdant wept until the forests grew.
The Cerulean sang to the wind until it carried memory.
The Aureate's tears became gold, filling men's hearts with longing and hope.
And the Umbral swallowed their sorrow, hiding it where no one could ever find it.
They waited — centuries, millennia — for the day the Flame would awaken once more.
For when the Crimson stirs, they feel it — the pulse that binds them still.
Their gifts tremble, their instincts flare, their souls remember who they once followed.
And though time has turned gods into myths and myths into dust,
the Auryns have never forgotten the one truth that anchors their creation:
The Flame of Will was not merely their leader.
He was the heartbeat of the world itself.