In a realm untouched by the races of Man, They existed. The Origins, powerful beings whose wisdom and power grew unmatched... unchecked. In time, weary of continuing on in isolation, the Origins began to weave. They wove each of them a people, a culture, a language. To each of them went a piece of the world they had resided in, and they themselves expended much of their power to weave such things. Glorious, living civilizations, each aware of the other. And so the Origins watched, for eons. As gods to their woven descendants... and guides to their paths of life. For Faravos and Enavas, the Sun-Eater and the Moon-Shadow, only the remains of their skeletal bodies remained of themselves. Yet their souls inhabited even these corpses, immortalized by crystal, as they guided the race they had built together. The Dainheim. The feathered folk. The might pair set forth their only rulings- two pairs of each biological sex, to serve as their conduits in the mortal realm. Four individuals later known as the Guardians. As Brazen, and Jayde. As Goldyn, ... and Silvyr.