_Historical Accounts of When the Great God Walked Among Mortals_ --- ## Preface: The Age of Direct Presence These are the Chronicles of the First Age—the sacred histories preserved by Knowalia, Goddess of Knowledge and Memory, who witnessed these events firsthand and recorded them for all generations to come. In this age, the Great God did not rule from a distant throne or speak through intermediaries. He walked upon Solare in physical form, spoke with mortals face to face, resolved their disputes, answered their questions, and demonstrated through his actions what it means to be truly good. These chronicles are not myths. They are not parables. They are the recorded history of a time when divinity and mortality intersected directly, when the Creator himself could be found walking the roads of his creation, teaching those who would listen. May all who read these accounts understand: this truly happened. And though the Great God has departed, these stories reveal his nature, his values, and his will for how mortals should live. --- ## CHRONICLE I: The First Question ### When Mortals First Spoke to the Divine In the early days of the First Age, when mortals were still new to consciousness and struggled to understand their own existence, a young human woman named Thessia stood atop a hill and spoke into the wind: "If there is one who made us, if there is one who set the stars in the sky and breathed life into clay—show yourself. I have questions." She expected no answer. She was merely speaking her heart to the universe, giving voice to the confusion all mortals felt. But the Great God heard. He appeared before her not as overwhelming power, not as blinding light, but as a figure she could look upon without terror—radiant, certainly, but approachable. His presence felt like coming home to a place she'd never been. "Ask," he said simply. Thessia, stunned that her cry had been answered, stammered: "I... I did not think you would come." "You called. I came. This is how it works between us—you reach toward me, and I reach back. Always. Now ask your question." Thessia gathered her courage: "Why did you make us? What do you want from us?" The Great God smiled—a smile of such warmth that Thessia felt tears spring to her eyes without knowing why. "I made you because I desired to share existence. I am infinite, eternal, perfect—and profoundly alone in my perfection. I wanted others with whom to experience the joy of being, with whom to share love, with whom to watch creation unfold. "What do I want from you? Nothing you would not freely give. I want you to live fully, to grow, to choose goodness not because I force you but because you discover it is better. I want you to experience joy, to create beauty, to love one another. I want relationship, not servitude. Friendship, not slavery. "You owe me nothing, Thessia. You are not in debt to me for your existence. A gift ceases to be a gift if the recipient is obligated to repay it. I made you free, and freedom means you may even reject me if you choose." Thessia asked, "And if we do wrong? If we fail you?" "Then you face the consequences of your choices—not as punishment from me, but as the natural result of actions in a moral universe. But even then, I do not abandon you. Failure is how you learn. Mistakes are how you grow. I am patient. I can wait while you find your way." This conversation continued for hours, with Thessia asking every question that had troubled her heart. And the Great God answered them all—not with vague platitudes, but with honest, clear, thoughtful responses. When finally Thessia ran out of questions, she asked: "Will you always answer when we call?" "Until I depart, yes. And even after I depart, I will leave behind those who can guide you. You will never be truly alone, Thessia. This I promise." ### The Lesson This chronicle establishes the pattern of the First Age: the Great God was accessible, conversational, patient. He did not demand blind obedience but invited honest questions. He treated mortals as partners in creation, not as servants. The faithful remember Thessia's courage—to speak into the void not knowing if anyone listened, to ask her questions honestly rather than pretending to have answers. --- ## CHRONICLE II: The Dispute of Two Brothers ### When the Great God Taught Justice and Mercy In the third century of the First Age, two brothers—Korvath and Merik—brought their bitter dispute before the Great God. Korvath had worked for ten years to cultivate a magnificent vineyard. Merik, in a drunken rage after a personal tragedy, had set fire to it, destroying everything his brother had built. Korvath demanded justice: "He must die for this. He has stolen ten years of my life, destroyed my livelihood, ruined me. Execute him, or give him to me so I might have my vengeance." Merik wept: "I was mad with grief when my wife died. I did not know what I was doing. I beg for mercy—I will spend the rest of my life repaying him, but please, do not kill me." The Great God looked at both brothers for a long moment, then spoke: "Korvath, you are right to demand justice. What your brother did was wrong, and wrong must face consequence. Justice is not optional. "Merik, you are right to beg for mercy. You acted in madness born of grief, not in calculated malice. Mercy should be available to the repentant. "Here is my judgment, and pay attention, for this will teach you both what I value: "Merik, you will work for your brother for twenty years—double the time it took him to build what you destroyed. Every day of those twenty years, you will labor to rebuild his vineyard and restore his fortune. This is justice—the debt you owe. "But, Korvath, if after five years you choose to forgive your brother and release him from the remaining fifteen years of service, I will count it as the greatest act of righteousness you could perform. This is mercy—the gift you could give. "Merik will serve the full sentence unless you choose otherwise. Justice will be satisfied either way. But mercy—mercy is your choice to make." Korvath was angry: "You give him hope of early release? That is not fair!" The Great God replied gently: "Life is not fair, Korvath. If it were fair, both of you would get exactly what you deserve—and that would be far worse for both of you than you realize. I am offering you something better than fairness. I am offering you the opportunity to be like me—to satisfy justice while choosing mercy. "You do not have to forgive him. The full twenty years is just. But if you do forgive him, you will become something greater than you are now. You will become someone capable of mercy even when wronged. That is worth more than vengeance." ### The Outcome Korvath accepted the judgment, though bitterly. Merik worked faithfully for five years, never complaining, always treating his brother with respect and sorrow for what he had done. In the sixth year, as Merik was working in the vineyard, Korvath watched him and remembered his own sins—times he had been forgiven, times he had been shown mercy he did not deserve. He walked into the vineyard, placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said: "Fifteen years remain of your sentence. I release you from all of them. You are forgiven." Merik wept. Korvath wept. And the Great God, watching from afar, smiled. The two brothers rebuilt the vineyard together as partners, not as master and servant. And it became the finest vineyard in all the region—known not just for its wine, but for the story of justice and mercy that had been satisfied there. ### The Lesson Justice and mercy are not opposites—they can both be satisfied. Justice creates the context in which mercy becomes meaningful. Mercy without justice is enabling; justice without mercy is cruelty. The Great God values both. --- ## CHRONICLE III: The Starving Village ### When the Great God Taught Responsibility and Stewardship In the fifth century of the First Age, a village called Remnath faced starvation. A blight had destroyed their crops, and they had eaten their seed grain to survive. They sent messengers to the Great God, begging for a miracle. The Great God came to Remnath and asked to meet with the village elders. "Why have you come to me only now?" he asked. The elders were confused. "We did not want to trouble you until the situation became desperate." "Show me your granaries," the Great God said. They led him to empty storehouses. "Show me your fields." They showed him neglected soil, poorly tended, full of weeds. "Show me your tools." They showed him rusted plows and broken equipment. The Great God sighed—not with anger, but with sadness. "You call this desperate circumstance 'bad luck' or 'divine testing.' But I see something else. I see a village that did not prepare for hard times, that did not maintain their tools, that did not tend their soil, that did not save surplus from good years. "You want me to rescue you from consequences. But if I do, what will you learn? You will learn that carelessness doesn't matter because I will always bail you out. You will become dependent children instead of capable adults." The eldest elder spoke up, defensive: "Are you saying we deserve to starve? That our children should die because we made mistakes?" "No," the Great God said firmly. "I am saying you must learn from your mistakes while I help you survive them. I will give you what you need—this once. But I will also teach you what you should have known all along." ### The Miracle and the Teaching The Great God caused grain to appear in their storehouses—enough to plant and to eat until the next harvest. But he did not leave after that. He stayed for an entire season, teaching the villagers: - How to prepare soil properly - How to rotate crops to maintain fertility - How to save seed grain even in lean times - How to maintain tools before they broke - How to store surplus in fat years for lean years - How to recognize signs of blight early and prevent its spread He worked alongside them, his divine hands in the same dirt as their mortal ones. He taught them not just what to do, but why—the principles of stewardship, of planning, of responsibility for one's own survival. When harvest came, Remnath had more grain than they'd ever produced. The Great God gathered the villagers and spoke: "I have given you knowledge and one season of grace. From now on, you are responsible for your own success or failure. Use what I've taught you, and you will thrive. Ignore it, and you will starve—and I will not rescue you again, because that would be cruelty disguised as kindness. "I love you enough to let you face the consequences of your choices. That is what separates love from enabling." ### The Outcome Remnath became known as the most productive agricultural village in the region. They never faced famine again. And they built a school where they taught other villages the principles the Great God had taught them. They also built a stone marker in the center of town with these words carved upon it: _"The Great God gives both mercy and teaching. He will catch you when you fall, but he will also teach you to walk so you need not fall again. This is love."_ ### The Lesson The Great God helps, but he does not enable. He will give assistance in genuine crisis, but he will not prevent mortals from experiencing the natural consequences of their choices. True love includes allowing people to learn through hardship, not rescuing them from every difficulty. --- ## CHRONICLE IV: The Question of Suffering ### When the Great God Explained Pain A young man named Solis, whose entire family had been killed by raiders, stood before the Great God and shouted in anguish: "If you are good, if you are powerful, if you are loving—WHY DID YOU LET THEM DIE? You could have stopped those raiders! You could have protected my family! Where were you?" The Great God did not rebuke him for his anger. Instead, he sat down beside Solis and let him weep for a long time. Finally, when Solis's sobs quieted, the Great God spoke: "Do you truly want an answer, or do you want comfort? Because I can give you both, but they are different gifts." Solis said, bitterly: "I want to know WHY." "Then I will tell you—but know that the answer will not make the pain go away. Understanding why suffering exists does not eliminate suffering. It only gives it context. "I made a universe where choices matter. Where actions have consequences. Where mortals are truly free to choose good or evil. "Those raiders chose evil. I could have stopped them—but stopping them would have required removing their free will, turning them into puppets. And if I do that for them, I must do it for all. I must remove all freedom to prevent all evil. "Would you prefer that? A world where no one can hurt you because no one can truly choose anything? A world of beautiful, perfect slaves?" Solis said: "I would prefer a world where my family still lived." "I know," the Great God said, and his voice broke with genuine sorrow. "I know. And I grieve with you, Solis. Do not think I am distant from your pain. Every tear you weep, I feel. Every loss you suffer, I count. I am not detached from the suffering in my creation—I am drowning in it. "But here is what I can promise you: Their deaths are not meaningless. Nothing in my universe is wasted. The evil done to them will face justice. The suffering you endure will produce something in you—not immediately, not painlessly, but truly. You are being forged in fire, and what emerges will be stronger than what entered. "And one day—though you cannot see it now—you will understand. Not in this life, perhaps. But one day, you will see the whole pattern, the full tapestry, and you will understand why I allowed this thread of darkness to be woven in." Solis asked: "What if I never understand? What if the pain never makes sense?" "Then you must choose to trust me anyway," the Great God said. "You must decide: do you believe I am good despite evidence that suggests otherwise? That is the nature of faith—trust beyond sight, hope beyond circumstances. "I will not force you to trust me. But I invite you to. And I promise you—though you cannot verify this promise until after death—that I am worthy of that trust." ### The Outcome Solis struggled with anger and grief for years. He did not immediately accept the Great God's answer. He railed against it, questioned it, wrestled with it. But eventually, he chose faith. Not because the answer satisfied him completely, but because he decided to trust the character of the Great God he had come to know. Solis went on to found an order of priests dedicated to comforting those who suffered—not with empty platitudes, but with honest acknowledgment of pain and patient presence. He never pretended suffering was easy to understand. He simply offered his own choice to trust as a possibility for others. ### The Lesson The Great God does not always prevent suffering, and his reasons are not always comprehensible to mortal minds. He asks for trust despite incomplete understanding. He grieves alongside mortals rather than explaining away their pain. Faith is choosing to believe in his goodness even when circumstances suggest otherwise. --- ## CHRONICLE V: The Prideful Scholar ### When the Great God Humbled the Arrogant In the seventh century of the First Age, a scholar named Velain became famous throughout the land for his brilliance. He had memorized every known book, could solve any mathematical problem, could debate any philosopher and win. He became convinced that he was the wisest mortal alive—perhaps even wiser than some of the lesser gods. When he heard that the Great God was visiting his city, Velain announced publicly: "I will debate the Great God and prove that mortal wisdom can rival divine knowledge." The Great God accepted the challenge. A massive crowd gathered to watch this unprecedented event. Velain stood confident, prepared to demonstrate his intellectual superiority. The Great God's first question was simple: "Velain, tell me—what is your wife's greatest fear?" Velain blinked, confused. "What does that have to do with wisdom?" "Answer the question." Velain stammered: "I... I don't know. Why would I know that?" "You have been married to her for fifteen years, and you do not know what she fears most? Let me ask another: What is your son's deepest dream?" "I don't... he has many interests..." "What burden does your father carry that he has never spoken aloud?" "How could I possibly know what he hasn't said?" "What kindness did your neighbor show you last week that went unacknowledged?" Velain was silent, his confidence crumbling. The Great God continued, gently but firmly: "You have memorized books, but you do not know the people you see every day. You understand mathematics, but you do not understand hearts. You can win debates, but you cannot recognize the suffering of those beside you. "You call yourself wise, but wisdom is not merely knowing facts. Wisdom is understanding people, recognizing truth in relationships, perceiving what truly matters. By that measure, your wife is wiser than you—she knows your fears, your dreams, your burdens. She pays attention. You do not. "True wisdom begins with humility—with recognizing how little you actually know. Especially about the things that matter most." ### The Transformation Velain was devastated. His pride shattered. He fell to his knees and wept. "I am a fool," he said. "I thought knowing things made me wise. But I know nothing important." The Great God placed his hand on Velain's head: "Now you are beginning to be wise. Go home. Ask your wife about her fears. Listen to your son's dreams. Sit with your father and let him speak what he has hidden. Pay attention to the kindnesses around you. Read people as carefully as you read books. This is the path to true wisdom." Velain did as instructed. He spent the next year barely reading at all—instead, he listened. He asked questions and actually cared about the answers. He observed the people around him with the same attention he had once given to texts. He discovered his wife feared abandonment—she had lost her parents young and always worried that he would leave her, especially as she aged. He learned his son dreamed of being a healer, though he'd been afraid to say so because Velain had always pushed him toward scholarship. He heard his father's burden—guilt over mistakes made decades ago that still haunted him. And Velain wept again—not from humiliation this time, but from sorrow at how much he had missed while he was busy being "brilliant." ### The Lesson Intellectual knowledge is not the same as wisdom. True wisdom includes understanding people, paying attention to relationships, recognizing what truly matters. Pride blinds us to the most important truths, which are often found in the hearts of the people we overlook. --- ## CHRONICLE VI: The Establishment of the Divine Concord ### When the Great God Set Limits on Divine Power In the ninth century of the First Age, wars between rival gods threatened to tear Solare apart. Lesser deities fought for dominance, for worship, for territory. Mortals suffered as divine conflicts raged across the continents. The Great God called all gods to assembly—both those aligned with good and those aligned with evil. When they gathered, he spoke with a voice that shook the foundations of reality: "ENOUGH." The warring gods fell silent. "You have forgotten what you are. You are powerful, yes—but you are not absolute. You are free, yes—but you are not exempt from consequence. You have been treating Solare as your personal battlefield, and mortals as expendable pawns. "This ends now. I will establish laws that even you must obey. Not because I enjoy restricting you, but because unrestricted divine power is destroying my creation. "These are the terms of the Divine Concord, and they are not negotiable: **First:** No god may manifest in full divine form upon Solare. You may send Avatars—limited manifestations of your power. But your true selves remain in the divine realm. This prevents any one god from overwhelming all others and ensures that conflicts remain limited in scope. **Second:** No god may directly force mortal worship. You may inspire it, may earn it, may ask for it—but you cannot compel it. Mortals must choose whom they serve. **Third:** No god may utterly destroy another god. You may oppose each other, may weaken each other, may imprison each other—but permanent annihilation is forbidden. Even evil gods serve a purpose in the cosmic balance, and I will not permit their complete elimination. **Fourth:** When gods conflict, the damage must be limited. You may not sink continents, may not unmake species, may not destroy Solare itself in your disputes. Your conflicts must remain surgical, not apocalyptic. **Fifth:** I reserve the right to intervene personally if these laws are violated. And when I intervene, no coalition of gods will be strong enough to resist me. You have seen my power. Do not test it again." The gods of good accepted these terms immediately. The gods of evil protested. Hagsurium spoke for the dark gods: "You restrict us more than them! We are creatures of destruction, of dominance, of power without limit. These laws cripple our very nature!" The Great God replied: "You are creatures of choice, like all conscious beings. Your nature inclines you toward destruction, yes—but it does not force you. These laws do not prevent you from being yourselves. They simply prevent you from being yourselves at the expense of my creation. "You remain free to oppose good, to tempt mortals, to build your own followings, to pursue your own goals. But you will do so within boundaries that protect the world I made. "Accept these terms, or face me directly. Choose." The dark gods chose to accept, knowing they could not defeat the Great God. ### The Signing Each god—good, evil, and neutral—placed their mark upon the Divine Concord, binding themselves to its terms. From that day forward, the wars of gods became more restrained. Still dangerous, still consequential, but no longer existentially threatening to Solare itself. The Concord remains in effect to this day, enforced not by the Great God's presence (for he has departed) but by the mutual agreement of all divine powers that violating it would trigger consequences none wish to face. ### The Lesson Even freedom must have limits when unlimited freedom results in destruction. The Great God values free will, but he will not permit that free will to destroy creation itself. Boundaries are not always restrictions—sometimes they are protections. --- ## CHRONICLE VII: The Great God's Final Teaching ### The Last Public Address Before Departure In the final year before his departure, the Great God announced he would give one last public teaching. Mortals from across Solare traveled to hear him. He stood before the enormous crowd and spoke: "I am leaving. "Not because I am abandoning you. Not because you have disappointed me. Not because I have grown tired of you. "I am leaving because a parent who never lets their children walk alone raises children who never learn to stand. "I am leaving because faith that is proven by my visible presence is not faith—it is merely acknowledgment of obvious reality. "I am leaving because you must learn to choose goodness because it is good, not because I am watching. "I am leaving because the question 'What would the Great God do?' is less powerful than the question 'What should I do?'—a question you can only answer honestly when I am not here to answer it for you. "But before I go, I will tell you everything you need to know: **On Morality:** Good and evil are not arbitrary. They are woven into reality itself. Choose good because it leads to life, to flourishing, to meaning. Choose evil and you choose death, destruction, emptiness. This is not my punishment—it is simply how reality works. **On Suffering:** You will face pain. You will experience loss. You will endure injustice. I do not promise to prevent these things. But I promise they are not meaningless. Nothing is wasted in my universe. Every tear you weep is counted, and one day—if not in this life, then after—you will see why it mattered. **On Freedom:** I have given you the terrifying gift of choice. You may use it to build or destroy, to love or hate, to create beauty or spread ugliness. I will not take this gift back, because a world without freedom is a world without meaning. But remember: freedom means responsibility. Your choices matter absolutely. **On My Nature:** I am good. I am just. I am loving. I am patient. These are not separate attributes—they are all expressions of the same reality. Sometimes my justice seems harsh, sometimes my mercy seems too generous, sometimes my patience seems excessive. But trust me: I know what I am doing, even when you cannot see the full picture. **On Faith:** When I am gone, you will doubt. You will wonder if I ever truly existed or if I was merely a collective delusion. You will question whether I was really good or merely powerful. This is natural. Doubt is not sin—it is the beginning of deeper faith. Question everything, test all things, but remain open to truth wherever it leads. **On Hope:** The arc of reality bends toward good. Not quickly, not obviously, but truly. Evil may win battles, but it will not win the war. Death may take everyone, but death does not get the final word. Darkness may seem overwhelming, but light is fundamental and darkness is merely its absence. Never give up hope, no matter how bleak the moment. **On Love:** This is the heart of everything. The reason I made you, the purpose of existence, the force that holds reality together. Love is not weakness—it is the strongest power in all creation. Love your neighbors. Love your enemies. Love yourselves. Love truth. Love beauty. Love justice. Love mercy. Love, and you participate in my very nature. **On My Return:** I do not know when I will return. I have set no date, no countdown, no timeline. I may return tomorrow or in ten thousand years. Do not spend your lives waiting for me. Live fully, love deeply, work diligently, build beautifully. When I return, I want to find you living well, not merely waiting. **On Those Who Lead You:** I am leaving Perserphina to rule in my stead. Trust her. She understands both mortality and divinity. She will make mistakes—she is not perfect as I am perfect. But she loves you as I love you, and she will guide you well. Beyond her, listen to the gods of good, respect the wisdom of the faithful, but ultimately trust your own conscience—that inner voice that recognizes truth. I have placed a spark of my nature in each of you. Learn to hear it. **On What I Ask:** I ask very little. Choose good. Love well. Live fully. Care for my creation. Help each other. Stand against evil. Pursue truth. Create beauty. That is all. No complicated rituals, no elaborate requirements, no burdensome regulations. Just: be good, be loving, be truly alive. **On What Happens Next:** You will make mistakes. You will fail. You will hurt each other. You will doubt. You will struggle. This is all expected, all part of growth. I am not expecting perfection—I am hoping for effort, for learning, for gradual improvement across generations. "And now, my final word to you: "I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you. Even when I am gone, even when I am silent, even when you cannot feel my presence—I love you. This is the foundation of everything. Whatever else you doubt, do not doubt this. "Live well. Love much. I will see you again." ### The Departure And with those words, the Great God walked away. He did not vanish in dramatic fashion, did not ascend in pillars of light. He simply walked over the horizon, and he did not return. The crowd stood in silence for hours, waiting to see if he would come back. He did not. The First Age had ended. The Age of Faith had begun. ### The Lesson The Great God's departure was an act of love, not abandonment. He left so that mortals could grow, so that faith could be genuine, so that goodness could be chosen freely. His final teaching contained everything mortals needed to live well in his absence. --- ## CHRONICLE VIII: The First Miracle After Departure ### When Mortals Learned to Pray Three months after the Great God's departure, a young girl named Lyssa was dying of a fever in a small village. Her parents, desperate, did what mortals had done throughout the First Age—they called for the Great God. He did not come. They called again, louder, with more urgency. Still nothing. The father shouted at the sky: "You said you loved us! You said we could call on you! Where are you?" Silence. But Knowalia, who had been watching, appeared before them. Her eyes were sad but gentle. "He is not here," she said. "He has departed, as he said he would." The mother wept: "Then our daughter will die. He was the only one who could heal her." Knowalia shook her head: "No. He was not the only one. He simply made you forget that others could help as well. Watch." She placed her hand on Lyssa's fevered forehead and whispered words of healing. The fever broke immediately. The girl's breathing eased. The father stared: "You... you can do this?" "Yes," Knowalia said. "We gods were given power for many reasons, and one of them is to help mortals when the Great God is not here to do so himself. He did not leave you helpless—he left you with us." The mother asked: "But how do we call on you? How do we know you will answer?" Knowalia thought for a moment, then spoke: "Speak your need. Not to empty air, but with intention, with hope, with trust that someone is listening. Direct your prayers to whichever god represents what you need: - Call on me when you need knowledge or truth - Call on Wiszilliona when you need wisdom beyond logic - Call on Intelliencia when you need to solve a problem - Call on Dijinus when you need strength or transformation - Call on Perserphina when you need courage or beauty or hope "We cannot always answer. We cannot always give you what you ask—sometimes what you ask for would harm you, and true love says no. But we are listening. And when we can help, we will. "The Great God did not leave you alone. He left you with family." ### The Spread of Prayer This story spread rapidly across Solare. Mortals learned that they could still call for divine help—just to different gods for different needs. Temples were built. Prayers were formalized. Rituals were established. The Age of Faith had truly begun—not faith that the Great God was present, but faith that he had provided for mortals even in his absence. ### The Lesson The Great God's departure did not mean abandonment. He left other gods to guide, to help, to answer prayers. Mortals were never meant to survive alone—they were meant to learn to trust the divine family he had established. --- ## Epilogue: Why These Chronicles Matter These eight chronicles—and countless others preserved in the full historical record—reveal the character of the Great God: - He was accessible and patient (Chronicle I) - He valued both justice and mercy (Chronicle II) - He taught responsibility, not enabling (Chronicle III) - He acknowledged suffering honestly (Chronicle IV) - He valued humility over intellect (Chronicle V) - He established necessary boundaries (Chronicle VI) - He departed out of love (Chronicle VII) - He provided for mortals even in his absence (Chronicle VIII) The faithful study these chronicles not merely as history, but as revelation of divine nature. Each story teaches not just what the Great God did, but who he is. And though he has departed, his character remains unchanged. The God who walked among mortals in the First Age is the same God who watches now from beyond the veil, the same God who will return when the time is right. These chronicles are the bridge between past and present, between direct presence and faithful absence, between what was and what will be again. May all who read them understand: the Great God who walked Solare still loves Solare. His departure was not the end of the story. It was the beginning of the next chapter. --- _Thus conclude the Chronicles of the First Age, preserved by Knowalia, Goddess of Knowledge and Memory, for all generations to study and understand the nature of the Great God and the pattern he established for right living._ _May these accounts strengthen faith in times of doubt, provide guidance in times of confusion, and remind all mortals that they are loved by the one who made them—even in his absence._