Chapter Text
I am he who hath beheld the ending of all things, and yet was not taken by Death. When the final star of mine own universe was quenched, when the heavens were torn asunder and the seas of existence were drunk dry by oblivion, Death herself turned her countenance away and departed, for there remained none to reap. Thus was I left alone amidst the ruins of creation, a witness without end, a soul forsaken by conclusion. Long ages beyond reckoning wandered I through the cold corpse of reality, until even that vast sepulcher faded into silence. Yet lo, beyond the grave of one cosmos there lay the cradle of another, and mine eyes, which had seen the end, were granted the burden of beholding the beginning.
In the beginning there was naught. No heaven stretched above, no earth rested beneath, no darkness nor light contended for dominion, for even darkness requireth a place wherein to dwell. There was only the Void, endless and immeasurable, a sea of absolute nothingness whose stillness mocked all thought. Then, in that boundless absence, there appeared a single Light. It came not from afar, for there was no distance; neither was it born, for there was no time. It simply was. And that Light was the Creator. Alone was He in that vast emptiness, and loneliness was His first companion. Therefore, when consciousness stirred within Him, He lifted His hand and spake unto the Void, saying, “Let there be light.” At those words, from the tip of His finger burst forth a radiance so magnificent that all language faileth before it. A supernova of impossible splendor erupted into the nothingness, and the barren Void was filled with oceans of brilliance. The emptiness trembled, and the first dawn spread where no dawn had ever been.
Yet the Creator remained solitary amidst His newborn light, and so He divided His own being. His essence was sundered into mighty emanations, each bearing a fragment of His infinite nature. First came forth The Anarchy; the Shadow of Order; the Bridge of Light and Darkness; the Interstice Between Black and White; the Ever-Uncertain Mist; the Truth that Oversees All Things. He emerged as contradiction made flesh, a being who was both ally and adversary, certainty and uncertainty, harmony and discord. To gaze upon Him was to behold every paradox gathered into one shape, and His very presence caused reason itself to falter. He smiled with a thousand meanings and none, and the newborn cosmos shuddered at His laughter.
Thereafter arose the Mother Goddess of Depravity, she who is the Origin of Evil, the Indestructible, the Goddess of Origin, the Mother of All, the Brood Hive of Filth, the Sovereign of the Physical World. Fair was she beyond all mortal imaginings, yet terrible was her beauty, like the first crimson rays of dawn breaking over a battlefield strewn with the slain. In her eyes dwelt all hungers, all ambitions, all corruptions yet unborn. She was both womb and grave, cradle and devourer, and from her breath flowed the substance from which all material existence would one day be woven.
Then came her twin, the Mother Tree of Desire, she who is the Father of Devils, the Lord of Deviants, the Source of Curses, the Perpetual Blatherer, the Heartless God. Her form shifted endlessly between loveliness and horror. One moment she appeared as a tree laden with fruits of unimaginable temptation, and the next as a withered monstrosity whose roots drank the dreams of worlds. Her voice was a ceaseless murmur that filled creation with longing, and every desire that would ever torment a living soul slept already within her branches.
After her appeared the Primordial God Almighty, the false Creator, the false Maker, the Omnipotent and Omniscient, the Lord of the Astral World. He emerged as a pillar of pure and holy radiance, so bright that the newborn stars seemed but dying embers beside Him. Majesty clothed Him as a garment, and wisdom flowed from Him as rivers from a mountain. Around Him stretched vast celestial realms not yet formed, awaiting only His command. Though He reflected the masculine aspect of the Creator, there lingered within Him a strange incompleteness, as though He were a glorious reflection cast upon a divine mirror rather than the source itself.
Last of all came forth the one born from the Creator’s shadow. Where the others emerged from light, He arose from that which light could not wholly banish. He was Mysteries, the Lord of Mysteries, the King of Space-Time, the Beacon of Destiny, the Embodiment of Sefirah Castle, the Dominator of the Spirit World, the Immortal Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings, the Sky Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings, the Exalted Thearch of Heaven and Earth for Blessings, the Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings. No shape could contain Him, for every shape was but one of His masks. Galaxies seemed reflected within His robes, while countless futures and forgotten pasts drifted through His gaze. Around Him spiraled the unseen pathways of fate, and behind Him stretched an endless castle built from secrets, dreams, and possibilities. To look upon Him was to feel the weight of every unanswered question that had ever been asked or ever would be asked.
Thus stood the Five Primordials before the Creator amidst the first light of existence. And I, who had watched one universe perish and another awaken, beheld them in dreadful wonder. Before them there were no stars, no worlds, no gods, nor mortal races. There was only potential, infinite and unshaped. The Creator looked upon His children, and they upon Him, and in that silent moment I perceived the truth: that all future ages, all wars and loves, all triumphs and calamities, every heaven and every hell, every destiny and every rebellion, already slumbered within their shadows. The universe had not yet drawn its first breath, and yet the story of all creation had already begun.