Chapter Text
What is the beginning?
How were we created?
How did the universe even start?
No one can answer that. No one--not even the oldest primordials or gods--is that old. Though wise aliens and the multiple gods of knowledge and wisdom who existed and died throughout the eras made a reasonable hypothesis.
In the beginning, there was nothing. Matter didn't exist, and light had yet to form.
There was only Void--Void and the Root. One was the universe's body, while the other was its mind. Nothing else mattered--there was nothing else.
The beginning went on for god knows how long, yet gods didn't exist, so we have no idea how long nothingness reigned. An inky blanket covering a patch of reality.
Millennia after millennia, eon after eon--no, those mortal words could never express how long it took. If you were to write down the number of human years it took, even if you wrote a digit on every molecule--no, every atom--in the Milky Way galaxy, it still would require so many more.
But time didn't matter. The universe was eternal. And no mortal beings lived on the chunks of conscious matter named "planets."
A consciousness--the first soul--started to be tempered.
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First birthed within the outer Void, even farther than the swirl of Akasha, a concept even older than time itself. "Time" couldn't be formed without the "Creation," after all. Nothing can, but only nothing.
The universe's purpose, its very will, was to advance. Without "Creation," nothingness and Void would reign forever, other conscious beings will never live and die, and human history would never be carved into the Root. As such, this alternative reality would be pruned to save energy for worthwhile worlds.
So the Root prayed. Prayed with the Void. They prayed for something, someone. At the end of the beginning, it wished for a new concept, a domain. To grant that prayer, the Void combined itself with the Root. It was how the first concept was born--Creation.
With that concept came another consciousness--another mind. Birthed from Void and Root, a body made from the densest Void, a soul tempered with the first concept. Its existence would never be erased, for it was the universe, the Root. Or rather, the personification of the Root's will to advance and grow.
And so, the first Primordial--the God of Creation--was born.
No one knew how he looked. His form was ever-shifting, ever-changing, ever-swirling. Some described him as an Outer God, their mortal minds too fragile and brittle to realize he was something so much more. Others called him an Ultimate One, and some even called him "the First Star." Those select few were the closest to the truth, even though he was infinitely better than his creations. To compare them would be like pitting a quark against the size of a universe.
His body, made of Void, should have been black. Yet mortal creatures spoke of him as a beacon in the darkness. The light at the end of a tunnel. The tiny spark lighting up the dark expanse of space. The God of Creation also became the God of Light and Hope.
In the future, so many more domains will be made and crushed. The First Primordial would remember every single one.
When he later took the form of a human, his eyes contained more colors ever discovered by mortal eyes. On his forehead, another eye glowed with divine authority. Shaped like a crystal ball, it was the representation of the universe. It gave the Primordial clairvoyance--the ability to see anywhere in the universe--along with a few other "quirks."
The Primordial was born with knowledge. It was the Root, after all. A being outside the laws of the universe, a consciousness unrestrained by mortal bounds.
It knew its purpose--to create. To advance itself and to improve this dimension. To prevent this alternative world from being pruned away by its own will.
It was easy as breathing for someone infused with that very same concept.
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Building blocks came first. You can't make anything without the fundamentals or a blueprint--that's a given fact. They were small but oh, so diverse. Though only ninety-two were common, another twenty-six were rarer, and the other countless faded into obscurity.
The universe was now colorful, life-filled, and myriad to the Primordial. Yet mortal beings would still find it boring. That isn't surprising--their lives were limited, finite. They must choose what to do with their remaining time, lest they return to the Swirl of Akasha with regrets. But the Primordial spent an eternity in nothingness, so this was his definition of "fun." Yet emotion didn't exist. So how could he feel bored?
An infinity passed, and the building blocks were finally stable. They no longer returned to the Void after a mere touch. They could fuse and combine, separate and split, and release and absorb energy at will, all without nothingness claiming their shapes. Stable enough for other beings to form. Conscious beings.
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The Primordial was bored. After spending two eternities, one in nothingness and the other in matter soup, he was unimaginably bored.
That wasn't an issue, though. The Primordial was the Root. He could do whatever he so wished. With a few minor rules, of course.
The concept of time had formed an eternity ago, yet he was unbound by its clutches as he was time's father.
His eyes saw beyond time and space. A paradox, yet that meant nothing to the first god. He saw his future creations because he wished to.
So much color met his unsuspecting, naive, and oblivious eyes. So much life and beauty he could hardly believe it.
He might be the personification of the Root's will to advance and grow, but he didn't know everything. It's more like all the knowledge that existed, is, and will exist is in his divine mind, but he subconsciously placed a seal on his brain, barring all that wisdom from entering it. It would become far too boring if he knew what would happen with every universe. Instead, he receives visions of a possible past, present, and future. And once he sees something, he never forgets it. Even if an eternity, an infinity, passes, the recollection would still be as unclouded in his mind as crystal glass.
His clairvoyant eye scoured the multiverse, so many universes witnessed and never forgotten--from the insignificant inner universe to the endless Outer Void.
He was enraptured by one thing--life.
He saw so many mortal beings living and dying on a whim. They made their own universes so beautiful in their own ways. Even if some sought to destroy, they still contained their twisted version of beauty. From the beings residing in the Outer Void hailed as Outer Gods to tiny parasitic creatures named Viruses dwelling on a conscious ball of matter dubbed "Earth" by its inhabitants, they all captured the Primordial's attention in the same fascinating way.
Especially a group of lifeforms called "Humans."
They were the centers of every world--the Swirl of the Root prioritized the continuation of these "Humans" more than anything else, going so far as to delete worlds where humanity didn't survive.
Yet they were weak beings. So fragile and delicate that even the creatures called "Viruses" could send their Void-made souls back to Akasha. Their lifespans were so short. To the Primordial, a human would be born, live a fulfilling life, and die in the time it took for him to blink. They intrigued him more than any other, though.
They invented so many wonderous things. They learned to use the energy when the universe's building blocks combined and split released, giving it another eccentric name--fire. Tools were built to cope with their weak bodies, doing work too taxing or dangerous for human hands. They learned to use the slivers of power left by his body--Akasha--to perform "Magecraft." Another weird but stunning name.
Another eternity passed--silently and without warning. The Primordial returned to his birth universe, filled with matter soup. He knew what he needed to do.
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The Primordial did not wish for humans to be his first living mortal creations. The first universe, this universe, wasn't stable enough and didn't meet the need of their fragile bodies.
Stars were his first conscious creations. The beings he later made would need a source of energy, and stars radiated it all around them. The Primordial used his domain, and Void twisted and bent to his will. Just like that, another soul was born.
It was unstable, yet it contained more power than the Void in those fragile humans. It was supposed to be the soul of a star, countless times larger than a human.
The Primordial placed the brittle soul into a cloud of matter. After a wave of his hand, the cloud spun to his will. A star emerged millions of years later. Though to the Primordial, not much time passed. During that time, the soul stabilized, tempered in the star's burning core, and it eventually became bound to its new flaming body.
"ᚨᚱᛖ ᛁᛟᚢ ᛗᛁ ᚲᚱᛖᛏᛟᚱ?̴̡̧̬̮͍̗͓̓̀ͅ" (Are you my creator?)
"I am."
"ᛏᚺᛖᚾ,̵̼̪̭͓̯̩̜̄̽̃̆͆̇̑̿̈́̈ ᚹᚺᚨᛏ ᛊᚺᚨᛚᛚ ᛁᛟᚢ ᚲᚨᛚᛚ ᛗᛖ?̴̡̧̬̮͍̗͓̓̀ͅ" (Then, what shall you call me?)
"Your name shall be Alpha, the first...Starborn. Yes. 'Starborn,' I like the sound of that."
The Primordial was proud of his first life form. He called these living stars "Starborn," the predecessors of the consciousness on Planets dubbed "Ultimate Ones." Void was their soul and life fluid. They were the life forms the Primordial ever created.
But it was inefficient to create each one by hand.
The Primordial made it a universal law--as long as there is enough Void and matter, a star shall be born.
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The stars weren't perfect beings. Nothing was perfect. Even the Primordial had his flaws--he couldn't feel emotion. But that may have been a blessing. Eternal life is not to be taken lightly.
The stars were his first creations. They were one of the most powerful yet also one of the most flawed.
They didn't possess a connection to the Root--to the Primordial's true mind. Their perception of time was also slow. Not to mention they couldn't leave their stars.
The Primordial could have waited. He had time, unlike mortals.
Yet the stars prayed. In turn, the Primordial helped his first creations.
In an age long forgotten, when only stars lit up the sky, the Primordial lifted his head toward the endless black sky and sang.
It wasn't a song of the past. Nor was it about pain and suffering. It wasn't of prayers and belief, and it wasn't about worship.
It was merely the lullaby of a parent lulling their children to sleep with promises of a brighter future.
Through that song, the laws of the universe were established, and the stars gained a new purpose. They were the guardians of the Celestial Laws, sung into existence by their father.
With that new duty came new powers. Connections were formed, and minds were expanded. The consciousness that could only bare one eternity became able to bare two.
Civilization advanced. Slowly but steadily. The stars created settlements where they socialized. Where they awaited new ones to join their cause. These settlements--billions of trillions of years into the future--would be named galaxies and nebulae.
..........
Relationships--to The Starborn--were risky things. Not considered taboos but not encouraged.
When two Starborn felt attraction toward each other, a mesmerizing yet dangerous dance would ensue. Their stars would become binary, orbiting each other for all eternity. However, most binary systems are far from stable.
If their affection were to grow weak, their stars would drift apart. If their desires grew, their souls would get closer and closer, eventually merging with a forbidden light. The Starborn who experienced this merging rarely survived, their consciousness and bodies rejoining the Void they came from.
However, if they live. Both Starborn would inhabit a single star, and a process akin to birth would begin.
Unlike today--when the remaining stars are dormant--gravity was much more powerful and all-encompassing, so all the dust and gas from a star's birth would be pulled into its core, not leaving anything for planets or other astronomical objects to form.
Yet when stars collide, the dust cloud is thousands of times larger. Various materials would be birthed from that cloud, eventually clumping together and forming smaller astronomical objects. Most were just debris, uneven in shape--they were the leftovers of a birth.
Yet a select few resembled stars--some more than others. Balls made of the same materials but too dim and cool to be called stars. They didn't even have consciousness.
With the knowledge the Primordial gifted, the Star Born learned to split their souls, planting a fragment into the "false stars"' cores. These fragments were unstable, often breaking the "false stars."
If a shard successfully fused with a "false star," the soul shard would grow and stabilize, granting true life to the dead.
These "false stars" would be named "Planets," and the consciousness that resided upon them "Ultimate Ones."
Together, the stars and planets, and other astronomical objects were named "Celestials" by the Primordial.
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Nothing changed for a long, long time.
No other life was created, and the stars and planets reigned.
The Primordial went into slumber. The era of Celestials would not end for a long, long time.
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Yet a long time is still not forever.
If the stars were perfect beings, they would have reigned forever with their children--the planets. Yet no universe like that exists. For the Primordial's subconsciousness would prune such a reality. Humans can't stop their hearts by sheer will, and the Primordial had no control over his subconscious.
The stars were destined to be imperfect beings. No being could be perfect. That would violate the laws of the world.
The Starborn's bodies were designed to live for hundreds of eternities, yet their minds could only bare two.
After an infinity, the first star imploded, and the Starborn representing that star turned into something....malicious.
..........
The Void within became corrupted. It could never become a star again, but it didn't realize that. It forgot the Primordial's gentle song. It no longer remembered the bright futures its father spoke of. It no longer saw with eyes clouded with madness.
A mindless beast it had become. Even then, lingering memories continued to guide it. The memories it lost, the times it spent with its cherished ones, it wanted them back. But, most of all, it wished to hear the Primordial's gentle songs.
"Devour!" Its soul--no--the lingering notes from a song long gone screamed. "A blessing you are gifted: Life, Never-Ending! Devour! And a star you will again be!"
It consumed and consumed, leaving destruction in its wake. Thousands of galaxies and nebulae returned to their father, absorbed into the blackened star. Never to be seen again.
With that blackened Void, the corrupted Starborn grew, and its hunger grew, as well.
It became the first Voidsoul, later named "black holes" by following beings.
..........
One by one, the stars began to die.
The larger ones--belonging to the later generations--collapsed into neutron stars or pulsars, the Star Born that resided upon that star falling into an eternal sleep.
Other smaller stars--ones of the second and third generation--had less violent deaths, becoming white and black dwarves, their Starborn reduced to mere shadows of what they once were.
Only the first generation. The ones who were the most powerful yet also the most flawed. Only they became Voidsouls.
But numbers never mattered. The Voidsouls were born from the first stars. Their authority was incomparable with even their younger siblings--the second generation.
Powerful, mindless, and violent, they were. It didn't take long before the Starborn were threatened with extinction, with only a few trillion left.
..........
The remaining knew they needed help. That they couldn't defeat their former siblings alone.
Some Starborn went into hiding, but most banded together. And, like how their father once did an infinity ago, they, with their own children--the planets--raised their heads toward the now light-filled sky and sang.
This time, it was a song of the past. One about pain and suffering. It was of prayers and belief. And it was of worship and faith.
It was the song of countless children, hoping--no--begging and pleading to see their father again.
He heard their prayers. He recognized the songs offered to him. It was an odd feeling: listening to the tales of his own children. Even asleep, he'd been with them every step of the way.
The song of the stars roused their father from his slumber. He praised them. Praised and rewarded them for letting him listen to such a wonderful song.
A weapon was born.
It was a simple thing. A sphere of pure, golden light.
It sang the tale of the stars when used. A legend of war.
It spoke the elegies of the Primordial when left forgotten. The times of peace.
Its name was Enuma Elish: Tale of Creation.
..........
The weapon shone, and the battle was won.
The Voidsouls were never evil.
Their only wish was to hear their father's songs.
They were only lost children in need of guidance.
The Primordial wished he could feel emotion. So he could understand their suffering, loneliness, and pain.
But he knew no compassion.
With that, the Voidsouls were reawakened from their madness.
..........
They were horrified at what they'd done. Horrified by their power, by their corruption.
That didn't matter to the Starborn.
The Voidsouls were their siblings. No matter what. They stopped them because they still loved their broken siblings, felt sorry for them, and wanted the best for them.
To mortals, such a reunion may have been touching. Yet the Primordial could only look in indifference.
His children noticed this. They saw his emptiness. And they felt pity for their father.
The Starborn and Voidsouls had emotion, yet their father did not.
So they sang again. They sang like the Primordial had done for them so many eternities ago.
It wasn't a song of the past. Nor was it about pain and suffering. It wasn't of prayers and belief, and it wasn't about worship.
It was merely the lullaby of worried children assuring their father that he was not alone.
The Primordial joined this requiem after listening for an eternity.
His first children had done enough. They were the best children he could have hoped for.
The weapon he created was left forgotten. And, in turn, it sang the notes of peace. It was split into four pieces. Three were gifted to the stars to protect, while the largest fragment was divided into three again and given to the planets.
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Another eternity flew by.
It was finally time for the era of Celestials to end.
So he sang one last time.
It wasn't a song of the past. Nor was it about pain and suffering. It wasn't of prayers and belief, and it wasn't about worship.
It was merely the lullaby of a parent lulling their children to sleep with promises of a brighter future.
The Starborns and Voidsouls all had one final thought.
'ᚠᚨᚦᛖᚱ.̷̢̩̙̮̮̞̭͎̗͇̱͂̽̂ ᛗᚨᛁ ᛁᛟᚢ ᚠᛁᚾᛞ ᛖᛗᛟᛏᛟᚾ.̷̢̩̙̮̮̞̭͎̗͇̱͂̽̂ ᛗᚨᛁ ᛁᛟᚢ ᚠᛁᚾᛞ ᚺᚨᛈᛈᛁᚾᛖᛊᛊ.̷̢̩̙̮̮̞̭͎̗͇̱͂̽̂'
(Father. May you find emotion. May you find happiness.)
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So they sleep. With their attraction weakened and their light dimmed, the Starborns and Voidsouls will continue to sleep until they die.
To honor his first creations, the Primordial collected their final dreams as they went unaware, forming a symbol of power that fused with the universe and became a natural law.
..........
"Ansuz," the Rune of Gods and Ancestors, was born.