At the first dawning there was one - masterless and beautiful, an immaculate sphere of hardened glass that embraced cremation at birth and gave thanks to the fires below. The spread of man fell upon the world like disease, yet one remained incorruptible. In time the ravages of man overflowed the sphere. Glass flesh tore like parchment, hence one became six. Divided, their power was even grander to behold, thus they demanded worship. Among the devout, six were chosen but not absolved. The prisms, their keepers and a mighty warlock would gather in terrible unity. They forged empire and paradise. They purged with suffering. Hereafter they would be known as birth, death and that in-between. From womb to grave, the living are always dying.