–“I make art.. And it comes in many forms.”

Long ago, there were eight gods: Velantra, Velonov, Cantelmo, Drastra, Berlanda, Krestio, Thyros, and Astryds. They were not merely divinities, but constant presences to one another, gathering to share creations, ideas, and experiences that shaped existence itself. Velantra, the oldest among them, upheld the order of the universe and ensured these gatherings endured, while the others filled that space in their own ways, like distinct parts of a single whole.

Drastra and Berlanda, sisters, brought motion and structure to galaxies and cosmic dust. Cantelmo observed in quiet contemplation, accompanying the meetings with simple melodies. Velonov delighted in experimentation, in shaping and transforming new forms, while Astryds illuminated all with her steady radiance. Thyros provided abundance, and Krestio recorded every detail with near-obsessive care, as if afraid that something essential might be lost.

For ages, this coexistence sustained creation. The universe expanded not only through power, but through trust, continuity, and affection. Nothing suggested that such a bond could fracture, and the gatherings remained the invisible axis that kept everything in balance.

In one of these meetings, something failed to hold. What had once been shared became contested, differences long ignored began to weigh heavily, and their creations started to mirror tensions that had quietly accumulated over time. For the first time, they no longer acted as friends, but as forces in discord, and the conflict threatened to spill far beyond them.

To prevent absolute destruction, Velantra abandoned his original form and condensed into a single world, sacrificing his own essence to contain the others. Thus, each god came to exist as part of that creation, shaping themselves into continents, seas, and regions, bound to the world of Velantra and deprived of their full freedom, retaining only fragments of their divine nature.

This event became known as The First and Last Rupture, not of the universe, but of the friendship that once united them.

Velonov was not always merely land, before taking fixed form, it was a creative restlessness, a thought turned toward what grows, what inhabits, what persists even after ruin. Among the ancients, it was known for never being satisfied with permanence. It created, observed, and allowed change, like one repeating a sacred act whose meaning has long been forgotten.

When the First and Last Rupture occurred, Velonov did not resist the transformation, it accepted it as one accepts one's own weight. Becoming a continent did not seem like a loss, but a new form of the same creative gesture. Its lands moved with time, peoples emerged without a single origin, creatures learned to coexist without clear hierarchy, nothing there remained the same for entire ages, and yet everything seemed to continue. For a long time, this was enough. There were exchanges with other lands, stories crossed seas, and certain nights were too clear, as if the sky still remembered something ancient.

Then the pressure began. It did not come in recognizable form and did not cross borders, it settled as an idea. Concepts of order began to circulate more frequently, permanence, correctness, and limit emerged not as threats, but as proposals, too discreet to be refused immediately.

Shortly after, a man arrived from Krestio, bringing records, gold, and carefully chosen words. He spoke of stability, progress, and a durable future, observing the lands as one who sees potential, yet also flaw. Velonov allowed his presence for a memory it could barely name, like the recognition of a face in a dream. The man did not bring order, he brought the void. His origin was Krestio, the continent of stability and end, and his presence was the manifestation of that principle. His records did not describe what was, but what "should be," and with each word written, a spontaneous creature ceased to exist, a spontaneous river changed course. He did not conquer with swords, but with the patient erosion of reality, a power that did not come from him, but from the very soil that generated him.

The change was gradual, first organization, then authority. The initial laws were mild, almost natural. Over time, however, exceptions arose. Some regions became too silent, certain creatures began to be observed with undue attention, and previously spontaneous owners began to be contained.

Still, Velonov resisted, not with visible force, but through two presences that emerged from its own essence. The first was rarely seen, but its passage left a trail of oppressive inevitability. There was no aggression in its movements, only an unquestionable authority. The air around it became dense and heavy, and every sound seemed to have to struggle to be heard. Space compressed, as if reality itself curved before a superior will. Being in its presence was to feel the very structure of the world become fragile and malleable, and the overwhelming instinct that any act of defiance would be not only useless, but an affront to the fundamental laws of existence.

The other presence was its opposite, silent and authoritarian. Where it was found, the environment responded as if recognizing a superior instance of command. The air became dense and stable, and sound was muffled, as if space itself feared moving without permission. Being near was to be subjected to a silent judgment, where one was not evaluated by actions, but by the very permission to exist. The legends, once fragmented, gained new weight, a coherence that did not come from those who told them, but from those who heard them.

It was in this uncertain interval, neither peace nor war, that groups began to move away from the center. They did not name themselves officially, but were sometimes called an order, said to be renewed only by still existing. They did not speak of revolt, but of shelter, of continuing to exist without needing to explain themselves. There were decisions that seemed already made when they reached the right hands, and in those moments, a name emerged, never accompanied by face or explanation, just enough to indicate that someone was attentive.

At a certain moment, it became necessary to see more closely. Nothing was announced, only a silent displacement. The palace did not seem a place of conflict, it was too organized, too clean, with a constant quietude, as if everything was always waiting for something to happen.

In one of its corridors there was a brief separation, and in that interval, the first figure found the king's son. He did not recognize her as an enemy, she did not see him as a threat. There was only surprise and, afterward, words exchanged without excessive care. The words that came from her were not hers, they seemed torn from the deepest roots of the earth. The heir did not hear a legend, he heard the muffled cry of the ground itself beneath his feet. He listened, carrying the position he occupied not as pride, but as doubt. She herself, upon finishing, seemed to empty herself, as if she did not know where the force that spoke through her had come from.

The movement ended without confrontation, but something had been displaced. It was not long before this ceased to go unnoticed. The king understood that there was something there that could not be contained, and this was more dangerous than a direct attack.

The war did not begin with declaration, it began with absences, discreet orders, and places that became empty too quickly. When there was reaction, there was no longer any possible return. The palace was reached. The first figure fell before it could prevent, it was not taken to die, but to be seen, wounded before the throne, proof that even that which resisted could bleed. The wound was not made by steel, but by the mere presence of the king, his nature of Krestio, an antidote to the vital force of Velonov, undid it as light undoes shadow. The heir was present, observing the wound that seemed to tear not only flesh, but the air around.

The second arrived late. What followed was not recorded clearly, only that the throne fell and, with it, the one who should succeed it. When silence returned, the one who arrived later also fell, exhausted. She had not cast a spell, she had channeled the pain of the entire rupture so that the land would not die, only break apart. After this, an unknown man emerged among the wreckage, took her with him, and disappeared.

The wounded figure watched and, upon losing consciousness, took with it the last balance that Velonov still sustained.

There was no ritual nor decree. No one saw Velonov break apart. What was seen was the following morning. The sun rose over two horizons, where before there was only one. The air, which always carried the smell of damp earth and promise, now had a taste of salt and metal, like the blood of a wound that does not heal. The rupture was not a sound, it was the end of all sounds that were known.

Velonov broke apart to continue existing, and thus Novera and Velure emerged, not as punishment, but as fragments of a continent that tried to adapt to the limit and only yielded at the end.

Brazilian Portuguese: link

Spanish: link

Tagging: @manpleblog @imma-sue-you-becky @kaleidiope @red52z @aesopsbaby @screwzara @gysmoandsysy @aquaciin @altu-caeruleummar @juanddraws @oleanderollie @starlyfoxy @lucytsukii @llilobnuy @shycroissanti @gojicorps @crimmakesthings @thatotherman001 @anaguel-bianca-34x @allpoeart @yago-undertale @cryafterp4rty @mrd0ll @laf-e-taffy @thatstablepossumthing @aquanaia @jumpy-b

MKS note:

So, If you haven't seen it yet, I'll let you know here that I basically deleted the post talking about Velonov's lore..

And I did this to improve some aspects of the narrative and also to give more "meaning" to certain events, but don't worry! I'm not going to change anything in the lore, for those who have read it, it's exactly as it is, I'm just going to change the writing and improve some things.

It probably won't be long until the new version is ready, so don't worry, I'll post it as soon as possible! And thank you again for all the support, I love you all so much and hope to see you in the very official Velonov's lore!!🧡

—MKS

25 posts!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ “My True Park Is You” °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

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⚠️ Warning ⚠️: Some “swearing”, but I admit it's nothing major.

Oc ship: Windy Joy x Amber (plus Davell)

Versions in: Portuguese and Spanish.

Credits are at the end of the fic!

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Have a good read!🧡

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Note: it was the first book I read in its entirety, in just two days.. I never liked books, but I started to like them precisely because of him...

So, yeah.. Thank you, Dazai Osamu... For creating this work of art.

The way will always be for me to stay quiet and with the needle in my chest...

With a little blood running down..

I hate this, but it's better this way...

Right?

....

Hey!

I wanna dope!

Hey!

-Terminei de escrever o primeiro capítulo de “Laço da Imperfeição” e pensei....... Sobre os idiomas (inglês e português): /I finished writing the first chapter of “Bond of Imperfection” and I thought...... About the languages (English and Portuguese):

Por que pergunto isso: bom, tem vezes que meus posts de lore ficam MUITO longos justamente porque eu junto os dois idiomas, então pensei que, quem sabe, se eu os separasse, seria melhor para vocês lerem! Mas ainda quero ouvir de vocês, o que vocês acham? Quer que eu continue com o mesmo “formato” de posts ou mude?? /Why I ask this: well, there are times when my lore posts get VERY long precisely because I add the two languages together, so I thought that, who knows, if I separated them, it would be better for you guys to read! But I still want to hear from you, what do you think? Do you want me to continue with the same “format” of posts or change it??

Se puderem, por favor, votem ou comentem! Isso me ajudaria muito pra saber o que fazer enquanto à isso.. /If you can, please vote or comment! It would help me a lot to know what to do in the meantime..