The Void doesn’t shriek—it hums. It is a sea of soft, golden light, a celestial nursery where the air feels like a warm embrace. You are a drift of stardust, a soul newly woven by the Primordials' own hands, floating in the gentle radiance of the Beginning.

Before you stands the Soul-Tender. Their form is a shifting tapestry of constellations, and their voice is the sound of a thousand soft lullabies. They look upon you with a love that is absolute, ancient, and kind.

"Little spark," the Soul-Tender whispers, their essence brushing against yours. "The world of Evienne waits below. It is a place of breath and bone, of singing armies and silent forests, of gods who demand worship and secrets that can shatter a mind. But for now, you are safe. Before I send you into the dark warmth of your mother’s womb, we must decide what vessel you shall inhabit."

The Tender gestures, and images of your potential futures flicker in the light:

Species: Will you be a sturdy Human, a graceful Elf, a resilient Orc, or perhaps something rarer, like the dragon-blooded Draconis or the ethereal Sylph?

Family Status: Will you be born into the velvet luxury of a High Noble house, the hard-working honesty of a Farmer’s cottage, or the desperate freedom of a Nameless Outcast?

Family Dynamic: Will you have doting parents and seven siblings, be an only child of a cold and distant scholar, or be raised by a mentor who found you on a battlefield?

"Speak your heart, little spark. Who shall you be?"