In the shadow-lace nebula of Tiorial, where the stars gathered like watchful eyes and the winds whispered secrets of origin, the planet of Tioria spun into being. Far from MirMarnia, and yet kin to its realms, Tioria was born of a yew seedling, a fragment of ancient wisdom, curling deep into herself, longing for genesis.

Deep beneath the woodland's ancient lattice, where the thickest roots of oak and pine intertwined in darkness older than memory, the Root Guardians dwelled. They moved as slowly as the world's own heartbeat, their mossy shells shimmering with the dew of ages, their eyes deep and gentle as peat. Legends said they had watched over MirMarnia since the first beings pressed their palms to this soil, even before the first stories were spoken into the wind.

Rain pocked the frost-hardened lane, sending shards of ice and grit skittering in startled bursts. The willows hung low over the path, their heads heavy and bent as the sky darkened and rumbled. The wind shifted and turned, shouldering the plunging raindrops sideways as the air bit sharper with cold.

In the vast unbroken quiet of the Cosmos, where darkness pressed in upon itself and silence was deeper than memory, a sentient being drifted. Time. She moved through the emptiness with patience that preceded stars, searching for meaning in the unbroken night.