Chapter Eleven
For the nature of what had been created began to reveal itself. Pride gave way to dominion. Dominion gave way to excess. And excess gave way to corruption.
And through their deeds, the truth was uncovered.
The existence of the Arucane could no longer be concealed.
And the gaze of Araboth turned once more toward the world.
And in time, the Arucane fell from promise into ruin.
For the union of the divine and the mortal within them did not bring balance… but fracture. Power without harmony. Knowledge without restraint. And from that division, madness took root.
What had been conceived as dominion became tyranny.
What had been born of design became corruption.
And the Arucane rose as monsters.
Their strength became oppression. Their wisdom turned to cunning cruelty. Their rule, once unquestioned, became a shadow cast across the world. And soon, all eggles came to fear them—not as leaders… but as living calamities.
Yet the Arucana did not intervene.
They beheld what had become of their creations, and they did not turn away.
“This is the way of it,” they said among themselves. “This is the world taking its rightful form.”
And to the eggles, they spoke words that severed the last thread of hope:
“The Gods of Araboth have abandoned you,” they declared. “Your voices rise to nothing. Your prayers are no longer heard.”
And with those words, a deeper darkness spread.
For where faith was broken, fear took root.
And where fear dwelled, shadow flourished.
Across the lands, suffering grew. And though there arose among the eggles those of courage—those who resisted, those who fought, those who even claimed fleeting victories—it was not enough.
For the Arucane had multiplied.
Four generations had now walked the world, their numbers vast, their dominion unchallenged. And the tide of their rule could not be turned by mortal hands alone.
But the heavens do not remain blind forever.
At last, the truth rose to Araboth.
And when the Gods beheld what had been wrought, they descended as one.
The skies broke.
The earth trembled.
And the presence of the divine returned to the world in full.
The Arucana were gathered and brought before judgment, within the temple of Athengriel—the very place where their pride had first taken shape. There, in the heart of the world, the Gods convened, and the weight of their gaze fell upon the Five.
“Speak,” they commanded. “Explain what has been done.”
And Athengriel, unbowed even in that hour, answered without hesitation.
“What was denied to us,” he said, “we have claimed by our own hand the world that was ours in truth.”
And his words stirred the wrath of the divine.
But none felt the wound more deeply than Terfelial.
For this was not the first time.
Once before, her children had turned from the light.
And now… it had come to pass again.
The sorrow of it was vast.
But so too was her judgment.
The decree was swift.
The Arucana were stripped of their dominion. Their titles, their authority, their place within the world—all were taken from them. No longer would they stand as guardians. No longer would they be revered.
They were to be cast down.
Into the abyss.
To join the darkness they had chosen.
Thus was the sentence given.
Thus was the fall completed.
And as they were cast from the world, and the echo of their reign faded into silence, the age itself came to its end.
The Second Age was broken.
And from its ashes…
The Third Age began.
And as judgment was carried out, the Gods spoke further decrees concerning the fate of the Arucane.
They would not all be cast into the abyss.
No—some would remain.
For it was ordained that the Arucane would walk the world without the aid of those who had brought them into being. Stripped of divine favor, abandoned by their creators, they would face the consequences of what they had become.
The mightiest among them—those whose power threatened to rival even the heavens—were bound and hidden away in the deepest, most secret places of the world, sealed beneath stone and shadow, lest their strength bring ruin anew.
But the rest…
The rest were left to face the world they had broken.
And the world did not forget.