And in early days, power flowed freely for those who dared to drink it. A time of beginnings is a time of potential and potential unfulfilled is potential wasted. The kings and warriors declared themselves gods by blade or army. And the continents of the world broke by their clash, the weight of their will bending the bowels of the earth. Their clashes were many and divine and written into the scriptures that became the legends. With swords forged from the hearts of mountains, they cut the stars from the sky so their jesters could juggle them.
And man despaired, for he was but a pawn in the palm of something greater. Where armies walked, so too walked civilization. So too walked family and fortune. It is by the quests of kings that the warriors met their death or glory. And few would find their path and become something greater. But far more would wash their blood unto the dirt, their purpose wasted.
Balios, who was later known as the Good-King-of-the-Gods and was never seen without his crown of purest silver and his sword of purest wood, saw this chaos. He was one for meditation on the nature of the universe, for power can sometimes breed thought. Atop the mighty tower his kingdom built, he contemplated the stars and asked himself about the necessity of war. Why must violence create more violence? His meditations provided no answer and so he abdicated his throne and left his crown to the humblest of his daughters. He traded his sword to a child in exchange for a shiny rock and went for a walk to ascertain the purpose of the world.
King Balios walked along the roads until they ended, and finding a team of engineers working to plant a new road from seeds of brick and mortar, he opted to aid them. For a time, the king stood among men as equals. For all his wisdom, he found his knowledge dwarfed by that of the worker, for their place in the world was to act on the whims of others and that requires knowledge far greater than that of their masters.
And after the road had been built, carving its way through wood and over mountain, it found its way to the sea. They dropped the stones into place, anchoring them to the very sand of the beach through fire and cunning. And the salty water lapped at the tip of the road and the workers rejoiced for they had done as they were bid.
And king Balios found himself asking "Whose road is this?"
"Why," said the workers,"it is that of the Holy Green King, who sought to walk from sea to sea."
For the king desired to walk from sea to sea, but no such road existed. And so it was built as he walked it, the workers frantically remaining ahead of his precession. But the workers were cunning and had built the road by the many inequitable palaces of the lunar gods, and in so doing the Holy Green King found his advance slowed by curiosity.
And the king had a good laugh, for this was a clever plan and it had given the workers time to build their road. There was much merriment that night as they made their camp and drank their precious little liquor. But after the first week had passed, there was no sign of the walking king.
"Why," said king Balios the road builder,"I am not of you and I shall not be punished for departing my station. I shall walk the road and see what fate befell our lord." There was jest in this, for Balios was a far greater king than the Holy Green King and all knew it. But Balios was not Balios the king but Balios the road builder and Balios the road builder was as vulnerable to the whims of gods as any other. And so, he set out on foot to walk the road he had built.
And what a road it was, for it was straight and true as he built it with a king's eye. Where there were rivers, they had bridged and where there were forests, they had cut. The road cared not for the might of nature. And in turn, nature cared not for the might of the road. As the king walked his work, he saw the way root pried stone from soil, bending and bucking what was once smooth into roughness. Water drank from stone its very essence, leaving behind a brittle and crumbling thing, and the rivers and rains ravaged the road and left but a shadow in its place. And Balios was displeased but could do nothing, for he had spent years building this road and it would take years more to build another.
Balios walked far, until his feet were dusty and blistered and the dirt of the road caked his face so completely that even the other royals would recognize not his splendour. So dressed in mud, he came across On-Shevik, divine lord of the 92nd dagger style, practicing his art. The 92nd dagger style was a terrible thing to behold, for it was the art of using 92 different daggers across only two hands, two feet, and one mouth. On-Shevik was practicing by fighting 92 bandits. Each time he slew them, his blade bidding meat separate from bone and steel split from leather, he would then bid them rise again by kneeling and blowing his own life into them.
"What," asked king Balios, "are you doing, oh lord of the small blade?"
On-Shevik was not used to being addressed by such a small thing and had to squint to even see king Balios. "Flee little gnat, lest my blades kiss you too," said the lord of the small blade.
But king Balios had seen similar before and he watched as the life of On-Shevik was captured in mortal flesh only to be taken again. "Do you not see that your violence only drains your own soul?" he asked.
And On-Shevik, who-hast-flayed-the-flesh-from-the-bones-of-black-sheep, snarled with rage and moved to break the peasant who spoke back to him. His blades whirled in their intoxicating dance. He did not see how violence had shattered his soul into pieces or how his aspects of war were now contained in each of the 92 bandits. Each of the bandits pulled a dagger from their own souls for each surely contained a 92nd fraction of the measure of the lord of small blades.
And king Balios too took up a knife from his travelware, for if there is one truth, it is that the only thing that defeats one blade is two blades and the only thing that defeats 92 blades is 93. And so died the lord of 92 small blades, and so was born the 92 lords of the single blade. In this, violence breeds change and regrowth. In this, perhaps there is purpose.
The good king bid farewell to the 92 lords of the single blade, for he had much road left and much to ponder. He took with him naught but a small knife as a gift, for though it was meant for chopping vegetables, he had proven it would chop meat just as well. He resumed his walk gladly, for violence was never wise.
After much time, with the scent of the ocean on his lips, king Balios found himself standing at the foot of the inequitable palaces of the lunar gods. The doorman there was carved from the rock, and had guarded the doors to the palaces since the first sunrise had lit their peaks. It was said that to stand in the foyer as the sun rose and cast your gaze skywards to the stained glass skylight was to know true orgasmic bliss and so the palace was surrounded by the countless hopefuls who sought to barter for entrance. But entrance was only granted to the divine and all found themselves with naught to do but scratch the walls and beg.
King Balios approached the doorman.
"Who dares approach the palace of lord sun?" questioned the doorman.
"I am Balios road-builder and I seek the Holy Green King. I bring him a message from his divinely ordained road builders."
The doorman laughed because it was not often that a road-builder brought a message for a divine king. It spoke, "Then I can be of no help to you, Balios road-builder. Your king resides here no longer."
But king Balios had walked the road without deviation. He knew that he must've passed the Holy Green King had he continued on his path, and so with heavy heart he asked, "Then pray tell, where has my liege departed to?"
"He seeks the wonders of the heavens," said the guard. "The wonders of the world hold no interest for one so divine."
The two of them stared up in contemplation of the infinite heavens.
"Very well," said king Balios. "Then I shall return to the far end of this road and tell his builders that their task is at an end, for it served no purpose in the king's grand design."
"Very well," agreed the doorman. "I suppose you must."
It had taken Balios years to walk the road and would take him years to walk it back. But he knew the builders would still be waiting, for they had poured decades into the construction. And so, he found himself wandering the road back the other way.
There were other travellers on this road and Balios found himself fascinated by a group of magi. The magi, dressed in cloaks of purple silk and golden thread, ignored the peasant in their midst, for the years of travel had not been kind to the once splendid king. But their chatter revealed much to the king. These magi were questing in search of Aza, first and greatest of wizards.
And Balios found himself speaking to the magi. "Why do you think Aza walks this road?" he asked.
And the magi laughed, for the answer was obvious to any except for a particularly stupid peasant. "Because it is a road," the replied.
"But surely there are many roads. Aza may walk any or none of them."
But what Balios knew not was that wizardry was the art of paths. Aza was powerful because she stole what others merely claimed. She studied what others merely accepted. She questioned what others merely answered. In this and more was wizardry and study. And so, to those following the road Aza had set, it was natural that a meeting with the master would occur on a road too.
"But," asked Balios, "Aza did not follow a road when she invented wizardry. She built her own."
"And who are you to know of such things?" asked the magi, for they knew of magic and wisdom in the ways that travellers didn't.
"I am Balios road-builder, and I know of the building of roads," replied the king and the magi were cowed for this was a better answer.
The magi stopped their walk to think about this. They thought for many years until old age had them in its grasp and their minds were weak and feeble and too rigid to change. And the birds laughed at them then, for they fought their god could be found. But the good king took a terrible sadness from this meeting, for why was meeting a god worth the throwing away of a life? The road was harsh and few knew it better than him.
He walked the road until he reached the mountains that in his youth he had tunnelled through. But old age was creeping into his flesh, the weakness of bones becoming apparent in his shaking hands. He stood and watched the mountains from a distance. There was a commotion atop them, for Arvalik-Du-Manix, The Mantis God of Carnage was fighting against The Great Smith. For, Arvalik-Du-Manix was proud and decreed that his claws could cut better than any blade The Great Smith could forge. And so, the two of them stood now and took turns slicing mountains in twain. Both of them were evenly matched in this regard it seemed, for there was nothing they could not cut.
Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the competition then, so the king fit right in. However, he saw an opportunity to once again query why violence was so common amongst the gods. As an ant might, he stepped forwards and challenged the gods. "Why waste your time slicing mountains when the crops in the fields go unharvested?"
And it was true, because the farmers were so taken with the contest they had forgotten about their labours.
Both of the gods turned their attention to the small man who spoke to them in such a tone.
In the clicking langue of bugs, the mantis-god mocked the very concept. "There is no glory in slicing wheat. The farmer separates wheat from chaff and existence separates the gods from the mortals. We slice mountains for there is nothing bigger to slice and my blades are sharper than those forged by this oaf's clumsy fingers."
The forge-god found this funny as well. "For my blades are too fine to waste cutting wheat. How would such display my power? Such is for the little people to worry about. My table will always bear bread, for the people know the terrible price for their failure."
And king Balios was shocked at this lack of empathy, but perhaps not surprised. This was the nature of the gods and it was this very nature that he had set out to interrogate. "Perhaps then," he said cunningly, "you should prove your worth by slicing the only thing bigger than the mountains in twain."
And the gods both clamoured eagerly to know what could be bigger than the mountains.
"Why," said king Balios, "surely the ocean is far bigger than any mountain." And it was true, for the ocean was far bigger than any mountain.
Seeing the plain truth of the statement, the gods began the walk to the ocean, accompanied by Balios and a procession of curious onlookers. It was a long walk and the two strode without rest or diversion, and so many of the followers were lost to exhaustion and hunger. But Balios found his strength despite his aching bones and followed closely. The gods mumbled angrily about the poor quality of the road as they went, for it was overgrown and torn up by this time. Balios tamed his ego and made no comment to these remarks.
Finally, they reached the ocean at the end of the road. After some debate, it was agreed the forge god could have the first swing and he raised his mighty blade.
The ocean was indeed split in two, right down to the cold and dark sea floor and many things that had never seen light were exposed. But the water did not respect the wishes of gods and slammed itself shut again, hiding any evidence of the cut. The forge god was angered and he raised his blade to strike again. But Arvalik-Du-Manix was a cunning and evil being and he saw an opportunity. For in anger, the forge-god forgot that his company was petty and Arvalik-Du-Manix struck the The Great Smith down then. The mantis-god threw his rival's blade into the sea and in this way, the competition was won, for The Great Smith would forge blades no more.
And king Balios wept because it seemed such a waste for an artisan to fall to a warrior in this way. And he wept for he had a hand in it, for he thought himself wise enough to prove their foolishness to the gods themselves. But one hope remained. He stood now at the end of the road and he cast about looking for the builders, eager to tell them they could depart.
But of the road builders, there was no sign. And the king realized then that decades had passed and no amount of loyalty could compel that much service. The road builders had left long ago to seek lives elsewhere, because humanity had no need of gods or vanity projects to be happy. And the king knelt by the ocean and cried for he had gained nothing from his travels but a knife stained with blood and a pebble he bought from a child. He threw both into the ocean and in this way, he cast off the lessons of pain.
He cried for a year and a day before rising to wander once more.
King Balios walked far, through wood and mountain, over river and lake. His feet became inured to the road, and his countenance became that of an old thing. His philosophy turned to dust in the face of the awe inspiring expanse of the world. He saw much, tragedy that could only be felt and never described.
And finally, he returned home.
And in this time, his kingdom had fallen into ruin. For his daughters were many and had taken his command of the crown to the humblest as a challenge. But to be humble was not to make for a good ruler and his kingdom had fallen to disrepair while all who sought the crown banished themselves to the woods to prove that they needed less.
King Belios found the crown sitting alone on his old throne in his old palace. His once mighty wooden sword lay in pieces before it.
The good king thought for a long time about what to do. The good king asked himself how to fix the world.
Finally, he spoke to himself. "For the sun guides and illuminates, but does not influence. For the sky is infinite and divine. For the ways we are but toys in the hands of proud savages. Power does not breed control or worth, it merely breeds more power. What is a god but a man born into something he never earned? No, my course is clear. I shall drive the gods from this world. I shall banish them to the skies where they may shine down on us. Humanity shall forge its own road."
And he knew then that this was not a promise to make lightly. It would demand the very violence he rejected, require the very force of will he sought to subvert. But it was a promise he made regardless, for he was a king, and sometimes that came at the cost of innocence.
He gifted his crown to a peasant and said that whoever it fit would make for a good king. And this was true, because the crown would fit anyone and all were equal. In this way, the Crown of Belios became the symbol of a nation, the representation of a mandate to rule not by heaven but by wisdom.
He plucked from a tree a single twig as a blade, for it had much growing to do and he wished his weapon to grow into his hand and form. He spared no time for his daughters, disappointed as he was by their failures. Instead, he marched into the world to battle the gods.
They say that once, gods walked the earth and played in the rain. They say that the gods were banished from the world by Good King Belios the Road-Builder. And in this way, there was peace.