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In the beginning, there was nothing.
There was no sound. There was no movement. There was no god who demanded light. There was no creation. There was no life. There was no eden. There was no time.
In the beginning, there was everything, and there was nothing.
There, in a small pocket of the empty universe, grew a presence. It thrummed and it pulsed. It ached and throbbed, as if it was yearning what it would be like to be alive. But it did not know how to be alive. In fact, it did not know anything at all.
It was a passing, gluttonous weight, engorging everything that dared to exist around it.
It was a growth that continued to inflate with each helpless planet it devoured. It was a protruding tonnage, swollen and bursting at the seams. And yet, it was not full.
No matter how much it fed, it was always empty. It was a greedy, horrible thing. It was a cosmic beast that was constantly starving, salivating at the rim, leaking gas and plasma from its maw. It was once brought into existence by the collapse of a dying star. What was once an object of beauty and iridescence now hulks as a large, bulging mass, heaving its way through the endless space and swallowing.
Every second, it swallowed.
Every minute, it devoured.
Every hour, it fed.
Beyond the safety and confines of the event horizon, into the deep and the unknown, the maw feeds a singularity.
The singularity had no name.
It had no face.
It could not think.
It could not make a sound.
All it could do was be.
The singularity simply existed within a brief space in time — infinite, and endless. Whichever way you looked, you would see it. The singularity, in its incessant. It did not matter if you looked left, right, up, or down. It was there in the corner of your eye, it was looking at you behind your neck, it was beckoning you beneath your feet.
The singularity was everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was the black pearl of the maw, the very center of the beast. It was a beating, dead heart.
Within the sphere of existence inside a black hole, everything the maw devoured was absorbed by the singularity. Stars. Gas. Dust. Raw material. Decay from dead planets. The singularity was greedy, despite not being capable of feeling selfish desire. It was greedy in a way where it slurped everything up, leaving no crumb or exception, stretching planets to thin, emaciated strips, before expelling the excess into the vast abyss of space.
The maw existed for the singularity. The singularity could not exist without the maw.
One day, the maw came across a star. It was made of bright aureate gold, ethereal and alive.
It was a young star. From the taste of its crown, the little being was not even a thousand years old. It was recently fused. Recently born. Fresh.
It hovers by the maw for decades, a few light years away. It seemed curious, like it was the first time it was seeing a gravitational anomaly within the ocean of blackness that was the endless space. It hovered and danced outside the maw’s event horizon, like it was simply dipping its toes into the water, testing the temperature.
One day, the star took a step too far. It drifted dangerously close. The maw began to drool. It began to salivate, leftover stardust dripping and oozing from its brim. Oh, how hungry it was, for another meal.
The star crosses the point of no return. Just like all the celestial bodies the maw had once consumed, it was desperate to not be devoured, its own gravitational pull trying to fight the weight of the haul. It tugged, it dragged, leaving starlight in its trail. And in the cold vacuum of empty space, it shrieked.
It was an agonizing scream, with no sound. It was followed after by light that seeped out of its core, flowing out into a pool of its own substances. Starblood, amassing in one giant tidal disruption. It vomited its innards into the gaping rim of the maw, pouring out everything it had into the gaping, whistling mouth of the abyss.
It resisted, trying to fight the weight. But no matter how much it tried to pull itself away, the maw was ruthless. It picked apart its meal, slowly, strip by strip, stretching and pulling at the star’s outer layer – its crown. It was violent. It was eager. It was hungry.
The singularity remained still as the maw tore the star apart. It watched as the young star began to bleed, its skin peeling off in an agonizingly slow pace.
Ornate starlight began to permeate around the brim of the maw. It swirled, the innards of the star mixing in with the bottomless pool within its great crevasse. It continued to sink, to spill inside of it. It was not meant to be plausible. It was an impossibility.
Nothing had ever dared come close to the singularity.
Since its conception, it had been alone. It had always been alone. That was the making of its existence. Nothing was allowed to survive around the singularity. The singularity was hallowed ground. The singularity was consecrated mass. The singularity was not meant to make contact with cosmic matter. It was only meant to devour, and to regurgitate the chipped bones of planets back out into space, like an animal who had finished eating the remains of a carcass.
The singularity was never meant to touch its own meal, for the maw chewed for it.
But as the starblood grew dangerously closer deep within the abyss, there was nothing that could be done. It was getting closer and closer to the singularity, daring to stain it, to taint it. The singularity, cruel and all-consuming, had fed the maw for millions of years. This mistake, this leakage, this spillage of blood that had made its way to the core of the maw – this was the biggest threat that this cycle of life had ever come across.
The spill grew closer. Burning, hot plasma. Inching nearer and nearer. It threatened to coat the singularity in its essence.
And it did.
Starblood spilled over the singularity, covering the volume of mass, baptizing it, consecrating it. There was a flash of light, blinding and scorching, flooding everything in its surrounding. Suddenly, the abyss began to groan, deep vibrations disturbing the calm of the maw.
Light overflowed, light overwhelmed, light overcame.
Something began to pulsate.
Something began to throb.
The vibrations grew stronger, faster, like it was building up to release.
The maw was falling apart, flinching away from the light that was penetrating its core.
There was a steady beating of a dead heart, suddenly reverberating with life.
The singularity opens its eyes.
The pulsation came to a climax, before it exploded into a brilliant sea of starblood, plasma, and dust. The explosion was heard millions of light years away, the vibrations sending an infinite ripple through the ocean of space.
The singularity is suddenly ripped into a horrible, agonizing existence.
The singularity was alive. It could feel. It could see. It could finally be, out of its own volition. It had free will. It had the capability to think. It was real.
What am I?
You are everything, and nothing all at once.
Am I alive?
You are the quintessence of existence.
What is my name?
It is the first decision you shall make. What will you name yourself?
…I am everything and nothing all at once. I am dark matter. I am the quintessence.
I am the aether of the void. Therefore, that shall be my name.
Aether. What an interesting name. And what would you like to do first, Aether?
I would like to leave this place.
And where shall you go?
Anywhere but here.
The now conscious, sentient singularity began to leave the fissure where it had once rested. It floats, feeling its limbs, its body. Newborn. Begotten from the womb of the black hole that had birthed it. It had skin made of starlight, with long strands of hair made of a bright, brilliant gold. It was naked, beautiful and ethereal.
Behind its back, there was a pair of golden ridged wings. They were made from the essence of a star and the skin of the maw that once contained it. They were strong, pristine, perfect for the quintessence. They carried him anywhere he wanted to go.
Aether was a starchild. He was the first of his kind. He was born from the blood of a star that had been devoured by the black hole it once inhabited. He was once a singularity, a mindless volume of mass that only existed to act as the heart for a beast that never stopped eating.
But he had a new purpose now. Now, his body thrummed with new life, sending gravitational waves rippling through space with every movement of his limbs. He was alive, and he was a miracle.
He saw wonder in everything he came into contact with. Every star he touched, every planet he set his sights on, Aether found himself wanting to explore. Wanting to learn, to perceive, to search, to absorb.
There was this endless craving within him. It was not like the ravaging hunger that once tore the maw apart. No, it was a desire to consume knowledge. To know all he could, to see, to experience, to breathe, to live.
In the far distance of space, the first 'feeling' that Aether felt accumulating within him was the call of a star.
He could sense it, despite it being light years away from him. He felt an unyielding connection, a magnetizing force that willed his body forwards. He needed to find this star, no matter what. This star needed him. He could feel it. He could hear its voice. It was soft, barely a whisper in the hunkering bowels of deep space. It was a flitter. A murmur, within the abyss.
But Aether heard it, loud and clear.
And so, he began his journey. To travel the distance of the lightyears, and to reach the faraway star that called his name so earnestly. It was his purpose. It was his fate.
It took several thousand years before he could reach his first life-inhibited planet. The first world he had stopped at was a planet that first introduced him to the concept of godhood. Gods. The ‘supreme deities of the universe’, as the planet's inhabitants called them. Gods. The all mighty. The unwavering. The unparalleled. They answered prayers and ravaged their own lands.
Gods.
Was he a god?
He did not think so. He did not fit the description of it. He was simply a traveler, passing by.
Yet as he descended from the black sky above, the creatures of the world fell to the ground. Shrieking, wailing, screaming with reverence, exalting him. To them, he was probably the spitting image of some holy, hallowed thing. He was shrouded in gold light, brandishing a pointed sword that had manifested within his hand. And the people threw praises, screamed prayers, sung hymns and choruses that the starchild did not understand.
The starchild did not know why they seemed to be so disturbed. He did not know why they wept for him, why they kissed his feet, nor why they greeted him with a garland of colorful, soft objects. (He later knew those things to be flowers, the natural fruit of their world.)
“Why do you cry for me?” He asked a creature, who was embracing his torso. The starchild’s gaze was freezing cold, akin to the bitterness of ether space. And yet, his voice is warm. Simply curious.
“You have descended upon us from the heavens above to bless us. To grant us bountiful harvest and wealth! You are our god!”
The starchild did not plan for any of those things. He did not have offerings to bless them with, nor did he have answers to the pleads they were screaming in his face. These creatures believed him to be some all-knowing celestial being, but the starchild did not even know what they were called. The starchild was far from all-knowing. He was young, naive and he simply wanted to find room to explore. To frolic among their fields, to roam their vast planet. He wanted to experience.
And so, he removed the garland from his neck. He turned his back away from the creatures, and with one soundless flap of his wings, he flew away.
He found himself at a clearing, free of wailing creatures and festivities. It was a lush, blue-green body of… something. He leans over the body, and, without caution–dips his hand inside.
It was… cold. But it was not like the cold he knew, brutal and unforgiving. This was coldness that was akin to the soft voice of the star that had beckoned him from beyond. It was gentle with the skin, sending pinpricks of ice to his fingertips.
His eyes widen as the words he’s been longing to find suddenly come to him.
Water.
A smile finds the starchild’s face. This was… water.
He touches the surface beside it. His doused fingers sunk deep into the soft ground, leaving dark muck beneath his nails.
This! This was soil.
A strong feeling of joy overcame him. The starchild laughs, his giggle sounding like the song of a lyre, as he plays with the water and soil.
This was how it felt like to live.
To feel the ground beneath your skin, to feel the coolness of the stream, to feel the brush of the – what were these called? It did not matter. He loved it all, with wholesome happiness and merriment, despite not knowing what they were named after.
He loved, and he loved, and he loved.
From then on, the starchild begun to grow. It continued to travel worlds, and with each new planet came a new wonderful discovery. He learned of culture. He learned of customs. He learned of how the creatures of every realm would adapt to its habitat, making use of the natural material the world had to offer. He learned of food – oh, how incredible food was! You could find food in everything. In the animals that roamed, in the bushes that rustled, in the towering trees. You could even gather food, and make marvelous creations from it. It was a process the mortals endearingly called, ‘cooking’. The starchild thought it was one of the universe’s finest discoveries.
Of course, with every bright lining, there would be those who were cruel. Those who let fear consume them, and those who dared raise their weapons against him, intending to harm him, to kill him. It amused him, at first.
Killing.
What did they mean? Do they mean to kill him, like they would kill the beasts they caught before they cooked them? To kill means to rob one's life. The starchild did not think he could die. You could not kill something that was part of the universe’s making.
He did not like dwelling on the bloodshed that he left behind. To him, death was simply another element that existed within the realms, akin to fire, air, water, and earth. He did not see death as a threat, for it was not a concept that was known to the starchild.
After all, he was everything, and nothing all at once. He was life, and death, in itself.
Through his travels, word spread amongst the realms of the universe. They say there is a god roaming the worlds, making his presence known. Some argued, he was not a god. He was a bad omen, a message from the celestial beings. Some rebutted, he was not an angel. He was a sign of the rapture, a mark of the end of time.
But the starchild was none of those things. He was no god. He was not an angel. He was not a prophecy.
He was simply a starchild. A traveler, with a destination.
His destination was getting closer and closer. As his knowledge grew, he could finally see the star that called him in the distance. From their distance, he could see the glow of the star grow stronger and stronger. It was the brightest star he had ever seen.
As he drew nearer, he could see it condense into something else. He could feel the heat of it from several thousand miles away. Soon, it happened before he could even blink.
There was a bright flash – and then, an explosion.
In the deep crevasses of space, there would be nothing that shined brighter than the sheer force of a supernova.
Aether did not shield his eyes. Instead he veered closer, curious, desperate to see.
In the wake of the explosion, amidst a cloud of stardust and light, there it was. In the middle of the searing rays of light, was a body. Curled up within itself, small and impossibly radiant.
It had skin made of starlight, with long strands of hair made of a bright, brilliant gold.
It was another starchild, just like him. Another miracle, brought about by the universe.
“Oh, look at you,” Aether whispers, as he cradles the newly born starchild in his arms, the burning light radiating off of it not bothering him in the slightest bit.
Words would not be able to describe the feeling of familial love that overcame the starchild once he laid his eyes upon the miracle. Ecstatic, he held it, his long, blonde hair being the newborn starchild’s first image upon opening its eyes. He greeted it with a smile, and he welcomed it into existence.
Gently, he placed his hand on its head. He gently pets the hair beneath, and he finds himself humming with delight at the feeling of being whole. This was it, he realized. This was what his purpose was.
Time passed, and they remained within the sea of stardust left behind by the supernova. Aether accompanied the starchild that he had now come to see as his sibling. He taught it all it needed to know, until it was wise enough to decide how it wanted to be perceived.
She was his opposite. His contrast. She was his sister.
One day, Aether petted her head again, like he’s always done. Affectionate, gentle. He spoke with the joy of a proud sibling, yet with the wisdom of everything primordial.
“You were born from a blast of a supernova. You are luminescent. You are raw energy.
You are my light bringer.
You are Lumine, and I am Aether.”
Lumine. It was the name he bestowed upon her, taken from the light of the star that birthed her.
“You and I are travelers.
Together, we shall see what the rest of this world has to offer.”
And he offers her his hand.
Together, they are Viatrix, and Viator.
Two travelers, surveying the universe.
Two starchildren, the very first miracles.
Killer of gods.
Devourers of stars.
Discoverer of worlds.
Light bringer and dark matter.
Primordial and quintessential.