The Birth Of Ignis, as told during The Seeking of Myrth by Ryder The Radical.
Alright wildcard broskis, lean in and steady your boards, ‘cause Ryder the Radical has a tale to drop, the kind that ripples straight from the cosmic lineup.
So dig this, the bells before time say:
“And from the deck of Aruvah, Myrth drew The Spark.”
Wild already right? But here’s what they miss!
So the dice are cast, yeah? Boom! and suddenly it’s creation time, but like… creation going turbo mode. Myrth takes this massive cosmic inhale and the whole deck of Aruvah just like, crystallises in their hand. Totally legit, definitely not some card-up-the-sleeve kinda jam. Myrth rolls clean.
Now dudes, every epic odyssey starts with a single step, yeah? Except this step is, like, a metaphorical one… drawing a card that’s basically the baby seed of all existence from the universe’s sustaining force. Super chill, super casual cosmic stuff.
And the big question?
What card would Myrth snag?
The card of Might?
Concept?
Dude… maybe there was even a card of the surf?
Like the pure essence of the swell or something.
But nobody knew, man. Only one way to find out: just send it.
So Myrth pulls it, and I always imagine them kinda spluttering like,
“Spark!? For real?”
because this tiny little card is just sputtering and sizzling like a wet firecracker. And I swear I can hear Myrth thinking,
“What am I supposed to do with this puny thing?”
Spirit of Play, Creator of All Fun, holding something that looks like it’s about to burn out before the ride even starts.
But then these golden letters drift off the Spark, all mystical and floaty:
“The spark is clever, shy and small.
It waits for thee to light its hall.”
And Myrth’s probably like, “Oooohhhh, righteous challenge!”
Because let’s be real, there is no style of play that Myrth can’t shred. Not even riddles. So Myrth gears up, cranks the divine talent to max, probably throws in a twirl and a victory jig, and busts the riddle wide open.
“Guess this Spark needs a dope home! That’ll stoke the light,” Myrth probably says, super poised, super stoked.
And thus begins the gnarly quest for Spark’s first home.
And duuuuuuuude… Myrth just whips up perfection with a snapedy snap of their fingers. We’re talking sea views, giant plot, plenty of square footage, basically prime real estate energy. I even heard there was a billiards table and a heated pool. Like, “live your best life, Spark!”
Then Myrth calls up The Spark card again, never from their sleeve, because again, Myrth doesn’t do sleeve tricks, and the Spark just… sputters. Sizzles. Totally fades out.
I figure here Myrth must have looked super embarrassed and probably said something like: “Whoa, I swear that never happens.”
So Myrth tries again.
And again.
And again.
Every house better than the last, the kind of upgrades where you’re like, “Dude, how did I not know I wanted this?” But Spark keeps sputtering out like a damp bonfire.
Eventually Myrth, in either deep wisdom or total cosmic frustration, wanders off to chill beneath Tianmu and Nulin, the first trees like that ever grew. Sacred vibes, peaceful shade. You know that feeling when you’ve surfed all day and you’re just lying on your board letting the ocean hold you? That kinda vibe, but like... with trees.
And as Myrth’s pacing, touching the bark, thinking deep and righteous thoughts…
Boom. New idea. Use the wood of Tianmu and Nulin. But these trees? They’re woven with the First Laugh, real OG magic. You can’t conjure that stuff. You gotta earn it.
So Myrth sets to work.
Seven weeks, dude.
Seven times seven days and nights.
Consistency. Discipline. Divine grindset.
Like shaping the perfect board: slow, steady, stoked.
Week One: Wandering
So check it out, the first week’s all wandering. And I don’t mean lazy strolling, I mean feeling the land, you know? Myrth’s walking in big loops, then small ones, then zig-zags like they’re following a beat only they can hear. I always picture them crouching to pick up handfuls of dirt, letting it flow through their fingers like sand on a beach. Tasting the air, pressing an ear to the ground, waiting to hear what the land whispers back.
There’s this childlike buzz to everything they do. Every boulder is like a giant toy. Every stream is a new friend. At one point I imagine Myrth spotting a weirdly shaped rock, calling it Kevin, and making it their friend. Pure joy. Pure discovery.
By the end of the week, they’ve walked so much of the land that it’s like a map inside their chest. And somewhere inside that map, one spot hums louder than the rest; a little clearing where the wind curves just right, where the sunlight falls like it’s been waiting. That’s the place. The sweet spot for a divine Spark.
Week Two: Gathering
Week two’s all about gathering branches, and dudes, dudettes... you better believe Myrth does it with the care of someone selecting shells from a sacred shoreline. They’re checking each branch like it’s a living story.
They don’t take anything from the trees that’s still alive and thriving; nah, Myrth only gathers what’s willingly offered. Fallen branches, little loosened twigs, the kind that drop with this soft, friendly thwip the moment Myrth’s fingers brush the bark.
I swear, I can see them giving a little nod of gratitude every time they pick one up. Real connected vibes. Respectful. No waste. No greed. Righteous gathering, taking the amount the forest chooses.
Week Three: Preparation
Week three? Oh dude, precision central.
I picture Myrth sitting cross-legged, surrounded by this growing nest of twigs and branches. They’re stripping bark in long, satisfying curls that rip like the cleanest waves. They’re trimming ends, smoothing edges, testing flexibility with this slow rhythmic bend.
And the crazy part? Myrth enjoys every tiny detail. Not rushing. Not forcing anything. Just dialled all the way in.
There’s something meditative about it, like waxing your board before a killer set, but multiplied by infinity and blessed by the cosmos.
Week Four: Weaving
Here’s where things get real artistic.
Week four is Myrth weaving branches together, total care like a sweater knitted by a divine granny or something. Every movement is slow, intentional. They tuck one branch beneath another, twist a few together, step back, grin, adjust, try again.
It’s like a divine craft montage, except in real time. Hours and days passing, shadows shifting, Myrth humming little tunes they probably made up on the spot.
By the end of the week, these foundations of interlaced wood look like the bones of some ancient beast of celebration.
Week Five: Momentum
Week five hits like a wave that finally breaks: all power, all momentum.
This is the week where the hall becomes a hall. Big pieces moving. Whole structures rising. And Myrth’s working harder than ever, but not stressed. Nah, it’s that sweet kind of labour where everything you’re doing matches everything the world wants you to do.
I imagine the shape of the hall emerging like a tide pulling back to reveal a hidden cove. Walls curving like they want to embrace you. A roofline swooping with the same grace as a gull catching wind just right.
This is the week when, if you stumbled onto the scene, you’d go,
“Whoa. Something’s happening here.”
Everything clicks.
Week Six: Reinforce
Now we’re at the week of tenderness, the reinforcing, the binding, the strengthening.
Myrth works slow and deliberate, like they’re caring for something fragile and precious. They’re sealing joints with layers of intention. Little gestures of love disguised as craft. Every knot tied and edge sealed like a total blessing.
And this is the part I always imagine glowing. Like, the hall itself starts to pick up on the vibes. Joints shimmer softly. Branches straighten. The whole thing breathes.
The energy is immaculate. You’d walk inside and just feel better for no reason you could name.
Week Seven: Becoming
Week seven is my favourite.
Myrth lives in the hall, like really lives in it. Sleeps there. Eats there. Laughs there. Hums songs in the morning. Tells jokes down the long wooden corridors. Lets the space learn them. Because a structure isn’t a home until it’s shared with presence.
And at night? Oh man. Myrth’s cloak made of the pure light of play spreads across the inside like warm starlight. Its light settles into the corners, soaks into the beams, dances across the walls. You could almost imagine the branches sighing in contentment.
Day by day, the hall becomes more than beams and bark. It becomes… alive. Ready. Warm.
By the end of the seventh week, the space doesn’t just hold Myrth, it holds the memory of divine play itself. And after all of that, Myrth steps out, calm and certain, and redraws The Spark card.
And I can just imagine them saying something like, “Alright little spark… your hall is ready.”
And when Myrth finally drew The Spark again in that finished hall, dudes… it was on.
The little thing lit up with the most righteous glow you’ve ever imagined, not just light, but divine fire, the kind of blaze that just radiates truth.
It didn’t flare up all wild or angry; nah, it spread through the hall like it had finally found the place it had been dreaming of since before time. Every branch, every beam, every weave of Tianmu and Nulin’s wood caught the glow and carried it deeper, warmer, brighter. And in that rising shimmer of flame, in that pure creation, pure stoke, pure cosmic play: something new stepped into being.
Ignis. The first Ather. Spirit of fire, born from a Spark finally given a home worthy of its potential. The hall didn’t burn down, bros. It became something more.
And that, my dudes, is the tale.
Myrth, The Spark, the seven-week hall and the first Ather, Ignis. It’s the cosmic patience of a being who knows that some lights just need the right place to shine.
Totally righteous.
Totally gnarly.
And totally true, you can feel it in the swell beneath us.