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Found in the hands of the statues of Verath across all temples in 3250 PC3
Transcribed and archived by Master Historian Eldred Thornweaver
The Third Cataclysm stands as the most devastating event in Aethoria's history, not for the scale of its destruction, but for the hubris that caused it. This is the story of how humanity's greatest achievement became its greatest failure, and how the gods taught their final lesson through mercy rather than wrath.
In those final days before the Breaking, humanity had achieved heights of power and knowledge that we, their humbled descendants, can scarcely imagine. They had mapped the currents of mana itself, learning to harness and redirect the very forces that the gods used to shape creation.
Their cities touched the sky, held aloft by spells that commanded gravity itself. Their scholars had unraveled the fundamental laws of reality, reducing divine miracles to mere mathematical formulae. Distance had become meaningless - a network of teleportation gates connected every major city, while enchanted mirrors allowed instantaneous communication across continents.
Disease was all but conquered, aging slowed to a crawl for those wealthy enough to afford the treatments. Even death itself seemed more suggestion than law, as master necromancers developed ever more sophisticated ways to anchor souls to mortal flesh.
"Why should we bow to beings who are merely more powerful than us, not fundamentally different?" argued the philosophers in their grand symposiums. "Do we not understand the mechanisms of their power? Have we not replicated many of their so-called miracles through our own arts? Are we not approaching their level of mastery over reality itself?"
The temples still stood, grander than ever, but they had become more centers of magical research than places of worship. The gods were studied like natural phenomena, their powers quantified and catalogued. Prayers were replaced by ritual invocations that read more like scientific procedures than supplications.
Even those who still believed in the gods' divinity increasingly saw them as neglectful parents who needed to be called to account. They pointed to the suffering that the gods allowed to persist despite their power to prevent it. They questioned the arbitrary nature of divine favor, the seeming callousness with which prayers were answered or ignored.
The High Temples, once competitors for divine attention, began to collaborate. If the gods would not appear to any one temple's summons, perhaps their combined power could compel a response. Networks of crystalline arrays were constructed, designed to trap and channel divine energy.
The ritual chamber occupied the entire top floor of the Spire of Ascending Light, its domed ceiling open to the stars above. One hundred and eight of the most powerful priests and priestesses in the world stood at precisely calculated points around an intricate pattern of inlaid silver and crystal that covered the floor.
High Priestess Selenara, leader of the effort, stood at the northern point of the pattern, directly beneath the open dome. The stars seemed unusually bright that night, as if they too were gathering to witness what was about to unfold.
"Tonight we embark on the greatest working in the history of our world. No longer will we be subject to the whims of distant powers. No longer will we beg for scraps of divine attention. Tonight, we prove that humanity has outgrown its childhood. Tonight, we call the gods themselves to account!"
The chanting began, one hundred and eight voices raised in perfect harmony. The silver lines in the floor began to glow, then the crystals, then the very air itself as reality bent under the weight of their combined will. The barriers between mortal and divine realms grew thin.
And then they saw it - a pinpoint of light in the heavens, growing rapidly larger. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. The summoning was barely halfway complete. The containment arrays weren't ready.
The first tremor knocked several priests off their feet, disrupting their chants. The chamber began to shake violently. The light in the sky was now clearly visible as a massive object wreathed in flames, and it was heading directly for them.
The last thing Selenara saw before the world ended was the look of infinite sadness on Acolyte Doreah's face as the young priestess whispered, "What have we done?"
The Breaking lasted three hundred years.
The impact that began it all - known now only as the Godsfall - struck the eastern coast of the supercontinent with such force that entire kingdoms were simply erased from existence. The shock waves traveled through the planet's crust like ripples in a pond, but these ripples cracked continents and raised new mountain ranges where seas had been.
The survivors of that first day quickly learned that physical devastation was only the beginning. The failed ritual had torn holes in the fabric of reality itself, allowing forces never meant to exist in the mortal realm to seep through. Magic became wild and unpredictable. Time flowed at different rates in different places. Entire cities would vanish overnight, only to reappear centuries later aged only days.
Those few priests and priestesses who survived the initial cataclysm found their connection to divine power simply... gone. Their mighty temples, those that remained standing, became hollow monuments to their hubris. Many went mad from the silence where their gods' voices had once been.
Yet in the midst of this devastation, there were signs of divine mercy. Some survivors reported visions of Verath, the Binder of Oaths, appearing to them in dreams and moments of crisis. These visions never brought power or miracles, but they brought comfort and guidance for those willing to listen.
The gods had not abandoned their creation entirely. Instead, they had chosen to teach through absence rather than presence, allowing mortals to learn the value of what they had lost.
It would be seven generations before the world began to stabilize again. Seven generations before the survivors could begin to rebuild from the ashes of their ancestors' pride. And even now, two thousand years later, the scars remain - in the broken lands, in the wild magic, and in the careful humility with which even the most powerful mages and priests approach their arts.
For if the Third Cataclysm taught humanity anything, it was this: there are some powers that mortals were never meant to control, some boundaries that should never be crossed. The gods may be silent now, but their final lesson rings through the ages:
"Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."
In the year 3250 PC3, a remarkable event occurred. Manuscripts began appearing simultaneously in every Temple of Verath across the world, manifesting in the hands of statues depicting the god. These documents contained the complete account of the Third Cataclysm, written by an unnamed witness who had been preserved by Verath to observe the entire Breaking.
The witness described being removed from the realm of Aethoria by Verath's touch, preserved to witness what was to come. For three centuries, they watched as the world was unmade, guided through the Fields of Rest where they relived every moment of pride that led to humanity's downfall.
Before passing through the Radiant Gate to their final rest, Verath took the writings and spoke the only words the witness heard in all their time in divine presence: "Let this serve as both warning and hope for those who follow."
Today, the world continues to bear the scars of the Third Cataclysm. The broken lands serve as constant reminders of the price of hubris, while the wild magic zones remind even the most powerful mages that some forces are beyond mortal control.
The temples have been rebuilt, but they are places of humble worship rather than centers of magical research. Priests and priestesses approach their arts with careful reverence, understanding that true power comes not from commanding the divine, but from aligning oneself with divine will.
The Third Cataclysm stands as both humanity's greatest failure and its most important lesson. The gods did not destroy the world out of anger, but allowed it to be unmade so that it could be remade with wisdom. Through mercy rather than wrath, they taught that true power comes not from commanding the divine, but from understanding one's place in the grand design of creation.