The Corenda aren't born; they *emerge*. Not from flesh and blood, but from the confluence of deep-sea currents, ancient geomagnetic disturbances, and the lingering psychic resonance of forgotten civilizations. Their genesis is tied to what the fragmented texts call the “Shattered Chorus,” a catastrophic event millennia ago where the veil between realities thinned, allowing echoes of consciousness – primarily those of architects, cartographers, and musicians – to bleed into the oceanic abyss. These weren't mere impressions; they solidified, gaining limited autonomy, driven by an innate compulsion to record, to map, to compose. The Corenda are their imperfect, refracted legacies.
The most prevalent theories suggest the Corenda were initially aquatic architects, tasked with constructing impossible geometries within the crushing depths. Cartographers, charting currents unknown, their bodies subtly shifting to accommodate the ever-changing flow. And musicians, their minds echoing with the harmonies of lost orchestras, attempting to capture and preserve the ephemeral beauty of forgotten symphonies. The precise nature of this 'Shattered Chorus' remains elusive, shrouded in layers of myth and distorted memory.