Aul, the Father of Matter, is the god of all that is seen, felt, and doomed to die. To the Ardulai, he is the origin of the tangible—the shaper of earth, bone, and flame. His creations came into being through immense toil and divine suffering. Aul’s works are paradoxical: beautiful and benevolent, yet equally ugly and malevolent. All things real bear his mark—blessed and burdened, full of wonder and corruption alike. According to Ardulaic belief, it was Aul who destroyed Aula, severing the unseen from the world to make way for the physical. From the womb of a star, he fathered thirteen children—the Aulons—and granted each dominion over part of his creation.
When his labour was done, Aul withdrew—not into slumber, but into watchful silence, like a father observing his sons and daughters as they sow the fields of the world. But when the Sea Moon rose beside the Sun Moon, Aul and his Aulons were lost. Whether vanished, defeated, or transformed, none can say. Only the teachings of the Ardulai endure, standing eternal—and forever at odds with the Traysian faith in Aula, the Mother of Spirit.
Aul, the Father of Matter, is the god of all that is seen, felt, and doomed to die. To the Ardulai, he is the origin of the tangible—the shaper of earth, bone, and flame. His creations came into being through immense toil and divine suffering. Aul’s works are paradoxical: beautiful and benevolent, yet equally ugly and malevolent. All things real bear his mark—blessed and burdened, full of wonder and corruption alike. According to Ardulaic belief, it was Aul who destroyed Aula, severing the unseen from the world to make way for the physical. From the womb of a star, he fathered thirteen children—the Aulons—and granted each dominion over part of his creation.
When his labour was done, Aul withdrew—not into slumber, but into watchful silence, like a father observing his sons and daughters as they sow the fields of the world. But when the Sea Moon rose beside the Sun Moon, Aul and his Aulons were lost. Whether vanished, defeated, or transformed, none can say. Only the teachings of the Ardulai endure, standing eternal—and forever at odds with the Traysian faith in Aula, the Mother of Spirit.
Aul, the Father of Matter, is the god of all that is seen, felt, and doomed to die. To the Ardulai, he is the origin of the tangible—the shaper of earth, bone, and flame. His creations came into being through immense toil and divine suffering. Aul’s works are paradoxical: beautiful and benevolent, yet equally ugly and malevolent. All things real bear his mark—blessed and burdened, full of wonder and corruption alike. According to Ardulaic belief, it was Aul who destroyed Aula, severing the unseen from the world to make way for the physical. From the womb of a star, he fathered thirteen children—the Aulons—and granted each dominion over part of his creation.
When his labour was done, Aul withdrew—not into slumber, but into watchful silence, like a father observing his sons and daughters as they sow the fields of the world. But when the Sea Moon rose beside the Sun Moon, Aul and his Aulons were lost. Whether vanished, defeated, or transformed, none can say. Only the teachings of the Ardulai endure, standing eternal—and forever at odds with the Traysian faith in Aula, the Mother of Spirit.
Aul, the Father of Matter, is the god of all that is seen, felt, and doomed to die. To the Ardulai, he is the origin of the tangible—the shaper of earth, bone, and flame. His creations came into being through immense toil and divine suffering. Aul’s works are paradoxical: beautiful and benevolent, yet equally ugly and malevolent. All things real bear his mark—blessed and burdened, full of wonder and corruption alike. According to Ardulaic belief, it was Aul who destroyed Aula, severing the unseen from the world to make way for the physical. From the womb of a star, he fathered thirteen children—the Aulons—and granted each dominion over part of his creation.
When his labour was done, Aul withdrew—not into slumber, but into watchful silence, like a father observing his sons and daughters as they sow the fields of the world. But when the Sea Moon rose beside the Sun Moon, Aul and his Aulons were lost. Whether vanished, defeated, or transformed, none can say. Only the teachings of the Ardulai endure, standing eternal—and forever at odds with the Traysian faith in Aula, the Mother of Spirit.
Aul, the Father of Matter, is the god of all that is seen, felt, and doomed to die. To the Ardulai, he is the origin of the tangible—the shaper of earth, bone, and flame. His creations came into being through immense toil and divine suffering. Aul’s works are paradoxical: beautiful and benevolent, yet equally ugly and malevolent. All things real bear his mark—blessed and burdened, full of wonder and corruption alike. According to Ardulaic belief, it was Aul who destroyed Aula, severing the unseen from the world to make way for the physical. From the womb of a star, he fathered thirteen children—the Aulons—and granted each dominion over part of his creation.
When his labour was done, Aul withdrew—not into slumber, but into watchful silence, like a father observing his sons and daughters as they sow the fields of the world. But when the Sea Moon rose beside the Sun Moon, Aul and his Aulons were lost. Whether vanished, defeated, or transformed, none can say. Only the teachings of the Ardulai endure, standing eternal—and forever at odds with the Traysian faith in Aula, the Mother of Spirit.