Chapter Two
But it was Terfelial who broke the stillness.
For she rose and spoke with a voice that carried through the heavens, declaring that the void did not lack form… it lacked life.
And the Gods, hearing this truth, were stirred. In one accord, they devised a great and sacred design. From their will and power, they shaped within the endless dark a realm immeasurable—a world vast enough to cradle all that was yet to be.
And on the first day of this new making, Terfelial brought forth an egg, forming its shell from the very elements of the land itself—earth, stone, and breath of creation. And she named him Joseph, the First of the Earthborn.
On the following day, she created his equal, a companion wrought with equal care and purpose, and named her Lydia.
Day after day, without falter, the Queen of Araboth continued her sacred work, bringing forth life in abundance, until the world was filled with a great multitude of eggs, each bearing its own form, nature, and destiny.
Then Terfelial, Mother of All, spoke unto them:
“Go forth, and multiply. Fill this world with life, and let it be ever growing.”
And so it was. The world flourished with many races of egg-kind, diverse in form yet united in purpose, and they lived together in a harmony unbroken, beneath the watchful gaze of the Gods.
And in Araboth, beneath the vaulted splendor of the great hall of the Gods, the divine assembly was called. There, upon her radiant throne, Terfelial, Queen of Araboth and Mother of All, spoke with sovereign authority and appointed each of her siblings to sacred charge—tasks ordained to guide, protect, and shape the lives of the eggs of the new world.
Thus were the works of the Gods woven into the fabric of creation.
Yet this decree, though just and wise, struck like a hidden blade within the heart of Th’ Eamon. For with every command she gave, and every duty fulfilled in her name, his resentment deepened, and his jealousy took firmer root. Still, he bowed to her will, masking the storm within, for he had not yet found the means to unseat her.
To the egg-kind of the world, Th’ Eamon was known as the god of wealth and commerce—the keeper of trade, the measurer of worth, the unseen hand that guided abundance. And for a fleeting age, he found a measure of satisfaction in this dominion. But it was a hollow comfort, unable to quell the fire that burned within him.
For he watched as the children of the world lifted their voices in reverence to Terfelial. He saw their devotion, their awe, their unshaken love for the Great Mother Hen—and he desired it. Not in part, but in full.
And so, in time, a dark revelation came to him.
At last, Th’ Eamon conceived of a path to her downfall.