Before the dawn of stone, when the earth still pulsed with a liquid fire, the Lepidodendrons reigned. Not as trees, not truly, but as colossal, sentient coral-like structures, their crowns ablaze with a bioluminescent pollen that spilled across the nascent continents. These weren’t simply plants; they possessed a rudimentary awareness, a slow, geological memory woven into the very fabric of their growth. They communed through vibrations, ripples in the molten rock, and the subtle shifts in the magnetic fields – a language older than time itself.
“The Heartstone remembers,” whispered the geologists of the Obsidian Age, a phrase lost to the grinding pressures of millennia.
The pollen wasn’t merely reproductive; it was a conduit. During the ‘Revels’ – periods of heightened geological activity coinciding with the peak of the bioluminescence – the Lepidodendrons orchestrated a grand, planetary ritual. Tremors, volcanic eruptions, and even the movement of tectonic plates were subtly guided, amplified by the concentrated release of phosphorescent pollen. It’s theorized they were attempting to reshape the world, to align it with some primeval harmonic frequency. Evidence suggests intricate patterns etched into the surrounding rock formations – not carved, but grown – reflecting the pulsing light and the resonant vibrations of the ritual.
“The Earth breathes in rhythm with the Bloom,” declared the Chronomasters, a cult dedicated to interpreting the geological echoes.
The first humans, the Forgers, were obsessed with the Lepidodendrons. They didn’t understand their purpose, but they recognized the power embedded within the obsidian-like rock formed in their wake. They meticulously collected shards, shaping them into tools, weapons, and eventually, intricate, pulsating devices that seemed to mimic the bioluminescent patterns. These devices were rumored to amplify the Earth’s vibrations, granting the Forgers an unnerving degree of control over their environment. The Forgers believed the Lepidodendrons were guardians, testing their worthiness through challenges presented in the form of geological events.
“Strength is measured by the Earth’s response,” intoned the Stone Speakers.
Then, as abruptly as it began, it ceased. The bioluminescence faded, the tremors subsided, and the Lepidodendrons stilled. Not dead, but dormant, encased in a shell of solidified magma. The Forgers vanished, their knowledge lost, their devices shattered. The planet continued its relentless dance of creation and destruction, oblivious to the profound, silent revels that had once shaped its very core. Some whisper that the Lepidodendrons are still waiting, buried deep within the earth's mantle, patiently gathering energy, preparing for another bloom.
“The Earth remembers, and so shall we, if we but listen,” murmured the last surviving Chronomaster, his words echoing through the ages.
This is a reconstruction, a fragmented echo of a lost epoch. The evidence is spectral, gleaned from the geological record, the whispers of forgotten civilizations, and the occasional, inexplicable tremors that still ripple through the planet. The truth of the Lepidodendroid Revels remains elusive, a shimmering mirage at the edge of understanding.