There are countless things that exist—unimaginable horrors and paradises of healing, minuscule organisms navigating a world far greater than themselves, planets, galaxies, entire universes, and infinite realities. Each teeming with stories: an ant finding food for its colony, only to have it kicked away by an indifferent foot; an alien boy, one of the last survivors of his world, crashing onto a planet called Earth; a juvenile god grappling with the weight of responsibility, learning what it means to hold the fate of a universe in their hands. Every story, no matter how grand or small, is unique. Ours is no different.
In a dimension brimming with flowers, a figure sat amidst a vast field, surrounded by blossoms of every imaginable color. She was a humanoid flower, her feminine form adorned with petals for hair and a dress that seemed woven from the very essence of flora. With graceful hands, she moved, guiding pollen from one bloom to another—creating and destroying in an intricate rhythm beyond simple comprehension. To the untrained eye, it was as if she were dancing with the flowers, a symphony of movement and life.
But look closer, and the pollen she wove was unlike any other. Tiny, shimmering spheres drifted through the air—some blue, some green, some glowing with warmth, others dim and cold. Each pulsed with emotion, radiating joy, sorrow, love, despair. And among the flowers, one could find something extraordinary—a bloom not of mere petals, but of celestial bodies, its core pulsing with blue energy as it swayed in the cosmic tide of pollen spheres entering and departing.
Then, suddenly, the entity stilled.
"Hmm… what is this? Someone is out of place." Her voice rang out—a sound like nails on a chalkboard, yet woven with an eerie melody. Reality trembled. Space collapsed, folding in on itself, and in an instant, the field of flowers was gone.
She now stood in a place that could only be described as nothing. Not darkness, not void—simply absence. And in this nothingness, there was only her. From every angle, from every perspective, only she could be seen.
Except… she was not alone.
A golden sphere floated before her, swirling aimlessly. How long had it been there? Where had it come from? No answer presented itself, yet its presence was undeniable. The entity tilted her head, intrigued.
"A… soul?" she mused, reaching out. "Or is it… something more? The $3@£¥}~>€ it emits is unlike anything I've encountered. A newborn concept, perhaps?"
Her delicate fingers closed around it, and in an instant, they were back in the field of flowers. She lifted the sphere to her face, peering into its depths.
"Even destiny does not yet have its eyes on you," she murmured, amusement lacing her voice. "How fascinating. Very well, little one. I shall send you on your way. Let us see where you drift… and what you become."
With a gentle breath, she coated the sphere in a fine layer of pollen and released it into the endless flow. As it joined the countless other drifting motes, she smiled, resuming her intricate dance of creation and destruction. Yet her gaze lingered, just for a moment, on a particular flower—the one into which the golden sphere had vanished.
Time passed. An eternity, or perhaps only a moment.
Far across the cosmos, in a quiet corner of the universe, the golden sphere floated toward a distant planet. No longer aimless, it had found its destination.
On this planet, within a dark and oppressive dungeon of stone and iron, a scene of sorrow unfolded. In one of the cold, damp cells, a woman screamed—a sound raw with grief. She was no ordinary human; her body was covered in soft white feathers, her arms extending into large, powerful wings. Feathers adorned where human ears would be, and her dark brown skin contrasted starkly with the snowy plumage of her hair. A beak parted in a wail of anguish.
Beside her, a man lay motionless, his dark skin and thick afro now matted with blood.
Three human men stood around them, their gazes impassive.
"The baby didn't make it, huh?" one of them muttered, shaking his head. "Figures. Hybrids are too unstable. Most don't survive. What a waste of time."
The woman clutched a small, limp figure in her arms—a newborn child, its tiny frame bearing traces of both parents. Feathered ears. Small wings on its back. Delicate feathered wings on its ankles. She held the baby close, her body trembling with grief.
One of the men scoffed. "She's weak from childbirth. Finish her off, and let's get out of here."
Another man stepped forward, drawing his sword. A single slash, swift and merciless. Blood sprayed against the stone walls. The woman gasped, her body trembling, then stilled—her lifeless arms still cradling her child.
The men turned to leave. But then—
A sound.
A whimper.
A cry.
The baby, once still, wailed—loud and piercing. Golden wisps flickered around its tiny body, unseen by the men who now stared in disbelief.
"Well, well," one of them chuckled. "Looks like we got lucky after all. A hybrid that survived? This one'll sell for a fortune."
He reached down, plucking the infant from its mother's lifeless embrace. The men strode away, oblivious to the golden light that still flickered faintly around the child.
And so began the story of an existence unlike any other. A being fated for something far greater than its captors could ever imagine.
An adventure awaited—one that would shake the very fabric of the cosmos.
This was only the beginning.