She is walking through the woods. It is close to sunset, and the ceaseless sound of cicadas is softly filling the evening air. From the light and the temperature, she knows it to be late summer. She also knows she is late. She has an appointment, and miles to go yet. This delay is unwise; it might even be dangerous. They could be close behind her, even now.

They are a nameless terror, evil and deadly. But if she reaches her destination in time, she will be safe.

Fire.

Chaos reigns at the magical academy of Oriath: The halls of examination lie ruined, a student has perished inside. While the feared auditors of the jabit-kadhrel, the Office for Magic Misused, are still in the dark, teacher Olidra has suspicions he dare not voice. He begins to make his own investigations.

Meanwhile, the exiled Vahnatai apprentice Tam sets out with the Nephilim, the mythical cat-people, to explore an ancient ruin and shed light on the ancient past. But they soon realize they are not the only ones searching - and their rivals are merciless killers.

"... of Creation. Ha!" The single laugh was a shouted bark, loud and clear.

"I sense some cynicism, my young friend." Eyebrows raised.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Olidra, I'm sure!" The first speaker's round grey face looked completely innocent, but a mischievous twinkle entered his eyes.

"And some sarcasm, too, I believe," Olidra replied, drily. "You are not normally in so humorous a mood, young Aidra. I gather that the text seems to trouble you?"

...of Creation.

It was a whisper in the void. A soft shiver, a movement, barely a breeze, the breath of existence.

It came from nowhere and went nowhere, but in its movement the one place became unlike the other place, and there was Space, and boundaries to space. It had never been, but would always be, and in its existence one moment was unlike the one before, and there was Time, and beginning and end. And in dividing, it divided itself, and made many what had been one. These many were the Principles, the spirits of creation, the harmonics that resonate in the fabric of the void.

The Vahnatai are ancient beings that have mastered both the shaping of magical crystals and that of life itself. This is their world, and they are the only ones who dwell here.

Or are they?

Aidra, a young student of magic makes a series of unfortunate mistakes and stumbles upon a secret that may yet shatter the centuries-long peace.

Sing me, oh muse, of the dawn of time
Of sun's first light, and the roaring sea
On the shores where the first-born dwelled.

These were the People of the Living Rock:
The Crystal-Carvers and Master-Craftsmen
The Undying, the Life-Shapers,
Of these, oh muse, sing.

The title of this work, long awaited and now at least complete, poses a question that leads to the central problem any historian must struggle to address: How does one chronicle a world?

Being a Collection of divers Accounts
Of the World that was named the Water Star,
And the Peoples who live and have lived therein,
Above and beneath, and the Histories each thereof.

by Arndt Kehtar, Historian