>>96850422 (OP)
In the first age, when the stars were still bright enough to hear and the rivers sang with memory, the goddess Anatola, Mother of All Paths, shaped a people to walk between her creations.
She made them from three breaths —
the breath of man, that knew wisdom and craft;
the breath of beast, that knew strength and hunger;
and the breath of the wild, that knew neither, but bound both in harmony.
From these breaths came the Lycari, firstborn of balance.
They walked in three skins — man, beast, and bridge — shifting as easily as wind through leaves.
They were healers who mended what war broke, hunters who slew only to preserve the song of life, and warriors who fought not for conquest, but for equilibrium.
For a time, the world was whole.
But all gifts are tested.
One day, the Lycari quarreled among themselves.
Some saw greater wisdom in the minds of men — the cities, the fire, the promise of dominion.
Others yearned for the freedom of tooth and claw, the call of the wild moon and the deep hunt.
And others stood between, pleading for unity.
Their voices rose like storms until even Anatola’s light dimmed beneath the noise.
When at last she spoke, her words were grief:
“If you cannot be one, then you must choose the path you will walk.
For no bridge may stand when both shores collapse.”
And so came the Sundering.
The Lycari gathered beneath the moon to make their choice.
Those who chose the path of Man shed their fur and fangs.
They took up plows and forges, building kingdoms and forgetting the songs of their birth.
Those who chose the path of Beast cast off language and memory.
They roamed the forests and mountains as pure animals, untroubled by reason.
