The Birth of Arda

The Song of Stars and Sundering: A Mythic Chronicle of Arda's Ages

As recorded by the Loremasters of Amon Lhaw, and translated from the fragments salvaged from the Vaults of Light

I. The First Age — The Silence Before the Song
In the beginning, there was only the Void and the One — a presence vast and formless, known in later tongues as the Old God. In the infinite quiet of that time, there was no breath, no fire, no thought—only the slow and silent ache of loneliness.

And so, from that great stillness, the Old God began to sing.

It was not a song with words, but a hymn of emotion, longing, and light. Into that song the Old God poured all that he was. From that sacred melody came forth the first flame of creation—life from sound. And from that flame were born the Four: Manwë, Varda, Melekor, and Nienna, divine children of the Old God’s voice.

Taking upon himself the name Ilúvatar, the Old God became the Father of All, and thus ended the First Age, and began the second.

II. The Second Age — The Shaping of the World
In the Age of Making, the Four sang beside Ilúvatar, weaving their voices into the great hymn. Their song gave shape to the void: stars flared, waters formed, winds whispered, and stone was born. From their harmony came also the Mía, lesser gods and spirits, drawn into existence to aid in the crafting of creation.

But among the voices, one faltered.

Melekor, proud and cunning, grew jealous of Ilúvatar’s unique gift—the power to instill life and soul. In secret, Melekor wove discord into the Song, subtle and dissonant. He reasoned that if he could not create true life, he would unmake and reshape what was born of others, claiming it as his own. Many of the Mía, seduced by his vision or stirred by their own envy, lent their voices to his growing discord.

Yet the Song was vast, and the betrayal unseen.

At its completion, Ilúvatar summoned the Four to divide dominion over the world now called Arda. Melekor, first to choose, claimed Arda entire, masking his ambition in devotion. Manwë, his twin in age but not in spirit, claimed the Sun and Fire, forces of radiance and strength. Varda, quiet and watchful, shaped the Moon and Stars, vowing never to leave Arda in darkness. And Nienna, sensing the coming sorrow, asked not for land, but for the souls of the departed, to keep and tend until Ilúvatar called them once more.

With the heavens and dominions now set, Ilúvatar placed life upon Arda, and so began the Third Age.

III. The Third Age — The Awakening of Life
Life blossomed beneath the twin moons: Mithrillóth, the Greater Moon that sails the skies once each year, and Rána, the Lesser Moon, who dances each month. Creatures of all form stirred in the forests, mountains, and seas. Magic seeped into the world like morning dew upon untouched soil.

This was the time of planting, of the first breaths and first fears, when the gods watched in wonder—and one watched with hunger.

IV. The Fourth Age — The Age of Stars, the Age of Elves
The Elves, firstborn of the mortal races, awoke beneath the stars of Varda. They were radiant and ageless, attuned to the world’s harmony, and wandered across Arda in awe, crafting hymns of discovery, not dominion.

Theirs was a time of peace and wonder—the Age of Harmony. They built no empires, for they sought no conquest. They listened to stone, danced with the trees, and gave names to winds no others could hear.

V. The Fifth Age — The Age of Awakening
Moved by the Elves' grace, the gods released the younger mortal races into the world. Men strode the hills and plains, ever-changing, ever-curious. Dwarves delved beneath the mountains, drawn to deep fires and hidden gems. Others came as well—beastkin, scaled folk, halflings and more—each bearing echoes of divine thought.

At first, there was peace. The world was wide, and its wonders many.

But Melekor’s discord, long buried, had taken root. His whispers began to coil around the hearts of mortals. And in the deep places, his legions stirred.

VI. The Sixth Age — The Sundering War
At last, Melekor struck.

The sky turned red. The mountains broke. Kingdoms of Elves and Men were burned to ash. Dwarven halls were buried in fire and shadow. The War of Sundering had begun.

In the darkest days of that age, hope itself seemed to perish. The dead outnumbered the living. The stars vanished in smoke. And in the Battle of Tears Unnumbered, it was said even the gods wept.

But salvation came with fire and storm. Manwë, Lord of Flame and Sky, descended with the host of Valinor, bearing spears of starlight and banners of burning wind. At last, Melekor and his most dreadful creations were driven back to Angband, his black citadel. There, he was broken, bound, and cast beyond the Doors of Night into the Void Eternal.

But his servants were not all destroyed. Many fled, burrowed deep, or vanished into the folds of the world, their hate undying.

VII. The Seventh Age — The Age of Reckoning
And so the world turned, scarred but not slain. The Seventh Age dawned not in glory, but in silence.

The Elves, weary of sorrow, withdrew into the mists of Hithliniath, and their great cities fell into ruin. The Dwarves sealed their halls. Only Men remained in number, rising to fill the void.

Upon the bones of old alliances, the Empire of Egladil was founded—a last great bastion of mortal will, born from the teachings of Elves and the sacrifices of heroes long passed.

But the age is fragile. The Empire is vast, yet decaying. Orcs gather once more in the Helcaraxë, and the deep forges of Fos Almir smolder anew. Whispers of the Wyrm Gods and the Echoes of Morgath haunt the edges of maps.

This is an age of reckoning. Of ruins half-rebuilt and wounds yet unhealed.

And far above, Mithrillóth and Rána still sail the sky, watching. Waiting.

For the next verse in the Song to be sung.